


Operation: Make Kobra Move To Australia

by kryptidkat



Series: The Great Shipping Prank War [2]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Borderline crack, Domestic, Explicit Language, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Platonic Relationships, Prank War, Smoking, a classic case of That Escalated Quickly, adventures with makeup, also spraypaint and sunscreen, but the innuendo gets a bit out of hand, characters are not the band members, dont do drugs kids, especially at the end lol, give this one a skip if that squicks you out okay?, hashtag zoneweed, i apologize in advance for that lmao, it's still pretty ridiculous tho, no actual sexual content or even intent, no actual ships, nonconsensual gum-chewing, the great shipping prank war, this is the dirtiest fic you're ever gonna get out of me ok, this universe has developed a lot since Heart Attack so this isn’t a full on crackfic, very vague and brief allusions to past sexual trauma, weaponized fake dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryptidkat/pseuds/kryptidkat
Summary: “All’s fair in love and war. And this,” Kobra said grimly, “is both.”He put the sock on the door and shut it firmly behind them.Kobra and Cherri’s original plan backfires horribly thanks to Party’s alliance with Ghoul and their plot for revenge. The prank war grows so brutal that eventually Jet must intervene to put an end to it — and not nicely, either.This is a sequel to Operation: Give Party A Heart Attack, so check that out first if you haven’t already — or hey, even if you have, feel free to take a peek to remember where we left off! It’s only like a 3500 word oneshot lol(Disclaimer: no ship baiting intended, you know the drill, read the tags, blah blah.No oneat the diner is gettinganyin this ‘verse on my watch, thank you very much.)
Relationships: Agent Cherri Cola & Kobra Kid (Danger Days), Fun Ghoul & Jet Star & Kobra Kid & Party Poison & Cherri Cola, Fun Ghoul & Jet Star & Kobra Kid & Party Poison (Danger Days), Fun Ghoul & Party Poison (Danger Days), Jet Star & the Girl, Kobra Kid & Party Poison (Danger Days)
Series: The Great Shipping Prank War [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607995
Comments: 146
Kudos: 111





	1. The Summer of Sike Continues

**Author's Note:**

> I would be remiss if I didn't give a shoutout to the amazingly talented artists who have made art for this series! See 'em [here](https://kryptidkat.tumblr.com/post/190166368930/my-laptop-camera-is-bad-and-i-dont-have-my), [here](https://ravenxbones.tumblr.com/post/190206291565/all-ive-been-doing-since-getting-back-to-school), and [here](https://kryptidkat.tumblr.com/post/190237151575/another-art-contribution-to-the-series-by-my)!

“What’s in it for me?” Ghoul wanted to know. 

“The unparalleled joy of making those bastards’ lives a living hell?” Party offered desperately. He was nearly bouncing on his toes with suppressed rage and excitement.

“Tempting.” Ghoul made a big show of considering. (He’d pretended to be surprised when Party had stalked over and started ranting about how Cherri and Kobra had been faking their new relationship for the past week to get Party back for something. He didn’t want any of the wrath Party was vibrating with directed at  _ him _ .) “If we do, I have conditions.”

“Whatever you want! I just need a partner in crime.” Party dropped to his knees dramatically. “Help me, Ghoulie, you’re my only hope.”

Ghoul lifted an eyebrow.  _ “Only  _ hope?”

“Jet wouldn’t. Not in a million years.”

“Yeah, you’re right, he wouldn’t.”

“Just think of their faces,” Party wheedled. “Totally worth it. Please? I’ll do anything.”

Ghoul grinned down at him. “Anything, huh?”

Party leapt to his feet, glaring. “You know what I mean.”

“Hey, you left that one wide open.” Ghoul sat back and steepled his fingers, thinking. “Okay, first condition. The line is here.” He passed a hand up and down in front of his face. “Don’t cross it.”

Party blanched. “Was that on the table? Way too obvious.”

“Exactly. This operation has one pre-established rule we must abide by: avoid definitive action at all cost. This is pure mindfuckery. No pun intended.” Ghoul tapped his chin. “Hmm. How much do you trust me?”

Party side-eyed him. “As...as little as possible?”

“Well, I don’t half-ass prank wars.”

“I’m aware. You don’t need to remind me about the hairspray/toaster incident that nearly took my head off.”

“Touché. But how much do you trust me?”

“That’s a loaded question!”

“Oh, so you’re just chicken. Bold move, Poison, coming to ask for my help and then back-pedalling like a cowardly bicycle—”

“Okay, okay! I trust you.”

“Shiny! So glad we’re on the same page. As for the second condition…”

“Yeah?”

“Anything else goes. It’s gotta be realistic.”

“Wait, so there’s no plan?”

“We don’t need plans.”

“But how will I kno—”

“Oh, Poison,” Ghoul grinned again. “You’ll know.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


“Hm,” Kobra said. “We didn’t actually win.” 

The elation of their near-victory was fading, he was exhausted, and the kitchen was a disaster. 

And now the poptarts were gone, too. That was the real tragedy here. 

“I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” Cherri said. He kicked his heel into the cabinet below. Then he slid off the counter. “Seriously, what’s it going to take to break this guy?”

“It’s Party. Shoulda known he was gonna be stubborn as shit.” Kobra rubbed his forehead. “Why, you wanna tap out?”

“No!” Cherri said, picking up a metal bowl and setting it back on the counter. Contrary to popular belief, he  _ did  _ have a competitive side, thank you very much, and besides, they were both in way too deep to call it quits now. “I want to gross him out so bad he regrets being born.” 

“We’re certainly gonna make him regret  _ I  _ was born,” Kobra said, starting to get back into the spirit of things. He hopped down from the counter. “There’s tons more we can do, come on. War room, now.” 

“Hand,” Cherri reminded him. The others were out there, after all. Kobra grabbed the one he held out and pulled him from the kitchen. 

They made a quick dash from the dining area where Party was ranting animatedly at Ghoul in a hushed voice — no doubt agonizing over the atrocity he had barely escaped witnessing a few minutes before when he’d walked in on them exactly according to their plan, muahaha — and out to the shed in the backyard. 


	2. Bubblegum Bitch

~Two days later~

 _Snap._

Kobra started, jostling Cherri’s patched-together computer setup. 

“Stop bumping the thing, I’m trying to get all these cables in,” Cherri admonished. 

“Sorry.” Kobra shot a glare across the room at his brother before returning his attention to their project. 

Cherri was trying to read a usb drive he’d found, but the only working computer they had at the moment was a Pentium 120, so they were trying to wire that up to a television screen and assemble a chain of like, 30 different adapters so they could find out what was on it. 

As far as the prank war went, he and Kobra had more tricks up their sleeve (and had chucked their original battle strategy poster into the to-burn trash pile lest anyone find it; they were way past organized planning now) but they were still biding their time, hoping to catch Party off guard. 

Party himself was in fine form this morning, doing nothing even remotely useful and getting in everyone’s way whilst not doing it. He was sporting heavy eyeliner and one of his shortest crop tops and sassily chewing a massive wad of gum he’d gotten from somewhere, popping extremely loud bubbles with it. 

_Snap._

Cherri grimaced a little. Only Party could make something as innocuous as Juicy Fruit seem so...obscene.

It wasn’t just his and Kobra’s nerves Party was getting on. Jet was already rolling his eye to the ceiling. And Ghoul was getting steadily more and more tense as he hunched over a table messing with a tangle of wires. 

Party looked over Ghoul’s shoulder, chomping noisily. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Very sensitive bomb stuff! Sans detonator, but still. Stop, you’re gonna get that shit in my hair. What is your deal?”

Party gave him a sharp smile, obviously dying to be asked. “Devil May Dare game tonight.” 

“So I’d heard,” Ghoul said. 

“And this time, I—” Party came around the table opposite Ghoul, pulling a broken-off matchstick out of his pocket to show him with a flourish— “am the Devil.”

“Seriously? Again?” said Ghoul. “Please tell me you didn’t rig the straw-drawing.” 

“What’s Devil May Dare?” The Girl came running in. 

“Suicidal,” Jet said. 

“No one’s died!” Party protested. 

“Yet.” 

“It’s not that bad!”

“Oh really?” Jet said. “Last time you came home with double shiners, Nick O’ Time broke his nose, Daisy Dukes got stabbed in the spleen and Pony went head over skates into the Cactus Pit of Death, and you still think it’s a good idea?”

“That was one time! And my championship is on the line here! I have a winning streak to keep up, okay?”

“By running around in the dark trying to get yourself and other joys killed?” 

“BUT WHAT IS IT?” the Girl yelled when no one answered her fast enough. She tried to climb up Jet. “I wanna know!”

Jet sighed and hoisted her up piggyback style so she could hold on while he kept checking batteries and shoving dead ones into their charging docks. 

“Imagine the unholy union of guerilla paintball, capture the flag, and lasertag. In the dark,” he told her. “Idiotic people bet on it, and even more idiotic people play it.”

“Sounds about right,” Party said. 

The girl wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t sound _that_ dangerous. Can I go?”

“No,” Jet said.

“Aw, c’mon! My whole _life_ is a game of lasertag, Jet pleaaase.”

“When you’re older,” Party said. “Maybe.” He popped his gum right next to Ghoul’s ear. _Snap._

Ghoul’s hands clenched into fists. “Stop. Don’t you have stuff to pack or something?”

“Oh, I’ve been packed for days,” Party said. “Glow-in-the-dark paint, flashlights, the works.”

“Where is it this time, Poison?” Cherri wanted to know.

“The old amusement park.” 

“Oh, fuck you!” Ghoul exclaimed, envious. “I wanna go now.” 

“Hey, don’t blame me for you getting yourself banned!” Party said. He hung over the back of Ghoul’s chair again and purred, “Explosives were clearly prohibited in the rules.” 

_Snap._

“Would you quit that?” Ghoul said, jerking his head away and rubbing his ear. The noise had to be deafening with his hearing aids on. “They were just flashbangs. I don’t know why everyone raised such a fuss about it.” 

“Who’s going?” the Girl said. 

“Anyone stupid enough to join in,” Party said with a grin. 

“Your words, not mine,” Jet said.

“Hail the brave of heart, and dumb of ass,” Cherri couldn’t help muttering to Kobra, whose mouth twitched.

“Burners, mostly,” Party went on, regally ignoring them. “Some rock’n’rollers. Pony. Chimp. The Buzzkills usually get in on the action, too.”

“Next time I’m totally going.” The Girl declared. Curiosity satisfied for now, she slid off Jet’s back and ran off again. 

“It’s gonna be hella rad.” Party said dreamily, already there in his head. He was still hanging over Ghoul’s shoulder, chewing obnoxiously. 

“Party,” Kobra spoke up, sounding unhappy. “Are you su…”

“I let you race all the time!” Party retorted, shooting his brother a _get off my back_ look. But he must have picked up on the genuine concern in Kobra’s tone that Devil May Dare these days sounded like a panic attack just waiting to happen, because he added breezily, “Pony’ll be there, remember? I’ll radio if I die.” 

Cherri guessed the game might be good practice, actually. Controlled environment, no life-and-death stakes. 

“Shiny. No way relying on Pony could go wrong.” Kobra grumbled, but he let it drop. “Just be careful. _Second_ input, Cher. Blue cable.” 

“Sorry, try this?” Cherri switched cords. 

Party started to blow another bubble, and Ghoul kicked his chair back with a screech of metal on tile. 

The sound was so loud it turned everyone’s heads. 

“I said, _stop_.” Ghoul put a hand on Party’s chest, backing him up until he ran into a chair and couldn’t retreat any further. Party’s eyes went wide.

Nose inches from the taller joy’s, Ghoul stood on his tiptoes and bit the giant bubble himself with a snap of teeth. 

It deflated onto a completely flabbergasted Party’s face. 

The diner fell into stunned silence. 

“I’ve got 17 carbons riding on you.” Ghoul’s voice had dropped to a husky growl. “So you’d better score big tonight.” 

Ghoul reached up with his free hand, stripped the gum off Party’s face, and shoved it into his own mouth. Staring Party down the whole time. 

And walked away. 

Party sank into the chair, expression blank with shock. 

“Witch almighty,” Jet said faintly. 

Yikes. Cherri leaned toward Kobra. “I knew Ghoul had personal space issues, but. Damn,” he murmured. “Are they usually like that?” 

Kobra gulped. “Totally,” he said. “They...they fight all the time.” 

  
  


~~~

  
  


The front door bells jangled, rousing Ghoul from his doze in a booth. 

It was stupid o’clock in the morning, still dark out. The Girl, Jet, and Cherri had long since gone to bed. Kobra was in the corner, messing around with his and Cherri’s computer setup again. He looked up, too. 

Poison let himself in, tattered and paint-covered, looking like he had lost several rounds against a pricklebush, a fire, and possibly Vincent Van Gogh. “Who’s the best devil?” he crowed softly, shaking a bag that jingled. 

Ghoul eyed him dubiously. “You win? You don’t _look_ like you won.” He slid out of the booth to approach him. 

Poison beamed. “Sent everyone to hell. Well. The cactus pit, anyway.” He tossed the bagful of carbons onto a table. “Winner takes all, baby.” 

“Is that so? I believe congratulations are in ord...” Ghoul began, and stopped. Witch, Poison really was a mess. He took Poison’s hand instead of tackle-hugging him. “What’s this?”

“That?” Poison glanced carelessly at the spines poking out of the left sleeve of his black denim jacket. ( _For maximum stealth_ , he’d proclaimed earlier, exchanging his usual blue leather jacket for this one.) “Oh. Havoc was throwing cockleburr ‘grenades’.”

“And this?” Ghoul said quietly, reaching up to thumb over the bruise coloring up on his temple. 

“Um.” Poison visibly short-circuited for a few seconds. Trying to calculate what Ghoul was up to all of a sudden, maybe, or perhaps simply caught off guard by the gentleness of the touch. “My fault,” he managed finally. His gaze flickered to the floor and he let out a soft, self-deprecating huff. “Waltzed right into a tripwire, ate dirt. Thank the Witch it was dark and no one saw, huh. That would have made the airwaves for sure.” 

“Hm.” Ghoul ghosted his fingers down the side of Poison’s face. 

Poison’s eyelids fluttered shut, for just barely too long to be a blink, and Ghoul frowned a little, making a mental note to up his snuggling game in the near future. He had long ago privately appointed himself the resident cuddle monster of the gang and this was his cue, when something as small as that could render Poison speechless. All of his crewmates could get pretty starved for contact from time to time, but perhaps especially Poison, who was always _going going going,_ like the proverbial energy bunny, rarely holding still long enough for anyone to snatch a brief hug let alone get a proper one. 

Plus, considering their current arrangement, it would be deliciously incriminating. Speaking of which, Kobra was staring at them from his corner, cables and computers forgotten. 

Splendid. Time to ramp up the mood. 

“This?” Ghoul traced around an oddly-colored scratch on the side of Poison’s jaw. 

“Paintball. I think.”

Ghoul took Poison’s right wrist and rotated it gently. The sleeve had been charred nearly completely off, and there was a faint red burn going up his forearm. Nothing serious, but it probably stung like hell. 

“This?” Ghoul’s voice was little more than a whisper now. 

“Pyro-go-round.” 

“Really? They brought that back?” Ghoul said with a soft grin, double agenda momentarily forgotten. Despite himself, he was a little pleased. That obstacle had been his idea, originally, the last time the game had been held at the amusement park. 

“The merry-go-round on fire? Yup.” 

“Glad to hear my legacy lives on, at least,” Ghoul murmured. “Wish I coulda been there.”

Poison was playing along now. There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He stepped closer, voice dropping as quiet as Ghoul’s. “Wish you could’ve been there too.” 

Ghoul cleared his throat suddenly. “Moron. You should know better than to get careless around one of my contraptions. Come here, let’s get you cleaned up.” He grabbed the first aid kit from the corner, tucked it under his arm and led Poison into the bathroom, feeling Kobra’s eyes boring a hole into the back of his head as he went. Perfect. 

The second the door shut behind them Poison rounded on him. “What the _fuck_ was that this morning!?” he hissed. 

“Whoa. What about this morning?” Ghoul said. “May I remind you, this whole revenge trip business was _your_ idea!”

“Since when was you making me your bitch my idea!?” 

Ghoul clamped a palm over Poison’s mouth before he could start yelling for real. “You didn’t like that, sweetheart? Rather show me how it’s done?” 

Poison licked his hand, making him snatch it away with a startled sound of disgust. “I’ll show you _something_ ,” Poison threatened, shaking his fist under Ghoul’s nose. “You keep me on my toes for the past two days, not making a single move, then you go and pull something like _that_ without warning in front of everyone?”

“You were doing it on purpose! You were _trying_ to rile me up!”

“Damn straight I was!”

“Oh, Poison, there was nothing straight about it. And you deserved every bit of what you got.”

“You better watch yourself. I’m _so_ gonna get you back.” 

“Hey, hey. Save your antagonizing for the real enemy here,” Ghoul said. “And keep it down! You _trying_ to ruin the whole thing? Anyway, it was the perfect way to start. I was just getting the gears of that analytical mind of his turnin’ a bit.” 

“Fine,” Poison conceded crossly, hoisting himself up to sit on the edge of the sink. He sighed, letting his shoulders slump, and just like that all the fire in his eyes burnt out, leaving him looking small and tired. 

Ghoul studied him for a moment, then stepped closer so he could pull what he needed out of the first aid kit. 

“Been a while since we were in here,” he said, offhand, and Poison gave an unenthusiastic _hm_ in response. “That’s good. I don’t miss it. But,” Ghoul went on quickly, laying out antiseptic, gauze, tweezers, “You really should let me take a look at these, plus I couldn’t resist getting you in here alone with your brother watching. Who knows what he thinks we’re up to. Off?” He tugged at Poison’s jacket. 

Poison shrugged out of it with a wince. “Least it’s not two black eyes again,” he grumbled, lagging behind a bit in the conversation. He really must be tired. “I had to wear sunglasses for a _month_ to cover ‘em up.” 

Ghoul got to it, plucking the remaining cactus needles from Poison’s skin, disinfecting both of his arms and wrapping the minor burn in a length of gauze with practiced hands. 

Poison’s breathing started to become slower and heavier, and his head started to droop a little. No hint of restless energy or anxiety in his movements whenever Ghoul had to reposition him. No heightened pulse in his wrists. Not a flicker of distrust in the muted hazel gaze watching Ghoul work. 

It was rare that Ghoul got to see him like this, so wrung out that he was actually calm all through — and not from being upset, for once. Maybe Devil May Dare was good for something besides just a shiny jackpot after all. 

Done with Poison’s arms, Ghoul used a clean corner of his antiseptic-soaked cloth to work over a scratch on the side of Poison’s face. By the time he had finished Poison was leaning into Ghoul’s palm, eyes all but shut. So Ghoul set the cloth aside and stepped in closer, letting him sag forward and rest his forehead on Ghoul’s shoulder. 

They spent a few minutes like that, Ghoul threading one arm around Poison's waist and reaching up with his other hand to scratch with gentle fingertips in the short-cropped undercut sides of Poison’s red hair. 

After a while Ghoul pulled back. He hated to do it, but Poison was going to fall sleep on him right there if they kept on the way they were, and he wasn’t finished with Poison yet. “Look alive, redliner, I’ve got another idea. Then you can go to bed. Where’s your eyeshadow palette?” 

Poison frowned at him. “The glittery one?”

“No, the one with all the reds and purples.”

“Oh. Try that pile. What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” Ghoul found the palette and opened it up. “Here, take your bandana off.”

Poison complied sleepily without thinking. Ghoul wasn’t thinking, either, because he dipped a brush into some purple and touched it to Party’s bare neck. 

Poison’s eyes flew open, and his whole body seized up with a sharp inhale that he couldn’t quite choke back in time. 

Ghoul jerked his hand away. He could have kicked himself. “Sorry.” He swiftly began packing the makeup back up. “Nevermind. We’ll think of something else.” 

Poison grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No, no, Ghoulie, you just startled me. Sorry. I’m okay, c’mon, this is so evil. It’ll be hilarious.” 

Ghoul hesitated. “You sure?” 

“Yeah.”

“Poison.”

“You gonna do it or not? Come on, you’re next.” 

“Fair enough.” Ghoul conceded. “Tip your head? There you go.” He started working the powder into Poison’s neck in splotches, well away from the painful-looking scar under his chin. “This okay?"

"Fine," Poison said, only a little tightly. 

"Ah, the things you’ll do to torture your brother.” 

“The things I’ll do indeed,” Poison agreed, wiggling his eyebrows at him. ”Allegedly, anyway.”

“Hm.” Ghoul surveyed his handiwork. It looked uncannily realistic. “That’s gonna sweat off at the first hint of sun tomorrow.” 

“Hairspray’ll set it, sort of.” Poison pivoted to grab a can of it that was perched on top of an old soap dispenser on the wall. He sprayed some on and flapped a hand at it to help it dry faster. 

“Perfect.” Ghoul gave the bandana back. “Okay, put this on again, but low enough to where it looks like you tried to cover ‘em up and it fell down. Oh yeah, that looks great.”

“Now _you_ ,” Poison said, with that familiar artist’s gleam in his eyes. He plucked the brush from Ghoul’s hand and got started. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes that got depressing fast! So sorry, sad hours are over now. Next chapter we return to our regularly scheduled programming. 
> 
> And hey, shoutout to the inspired Ruination-Formation on tumblr for giving me the makeup idea waaaay back when we were chatting about how the first one went, lol...


	3. All's Fair in Love and War

Party was about to walk into the kitchen the next day when he heard Kobra and Cherri’s voices. 

Motherfucker, why was it always the _kitchen?_ That was a common area, for crying out loud.

He ducked away from the swinging doors to press his ear to the wall. The sound was muffled, only a few words coming through clear enough to make out. 

_Something something ride something something._ A soft laugh. _Something all night something. Blah blah blah take you blahblahblah._

Party listened with growing disgust. What the hell were they talking about? Could they be any more gross? And first thing in the morning, too. 

“What are you doing?” 

Party nearly jumped out of his skin. Ghoul had appeared behind him, looking amused. 

“Are you hearing this?” Party whispered furiously. “They’re in there right now! Doin’ Witch knows what mushy shit, and they don’t even know I’m here!” 

Were they really being that thorough? He and Ghoul were going to have to up their game...

Ghoul cocked his head, then shook it. “Move over.”

Party stepped out of the way, and Ghoul clicked up the volume on his left hearing aid and pressed the side of his head against the wall. 

His eyebrows crept higher and higher the longer he listened. Then he pulled away. 

“Well?” Party said. 

“I heard plenty,” Ghoul said mildly. “Time to break up this lovefest.” 

He strode briskly through the swinging doors with Party on his heels. 

Kobra and Cherri were standing facing each other, entirely too close together, swinging entwined hands idly in the middle of the room. When the two saw Ghoul and Party they quickly stepped apart a more acceptable distance. 

“Mornin’,” said Party with false casualness, crossing over to the cabinet. 

“H...how was playing devil?” Kobra said, watching his every move. 

“Kicked ass. Whatcha talking about?” 

Um,” Cherri said, a guilty shift in his eyes. “Taking a midnight bike ride?”

“Down to the...the gulch. To see the moonflowers when they’re blooming!” Kobra said. “That whole valley’s ‘sposed to be full of ‘em this time of year.” 

“Yeah. Moonflowers,” Cherri repeated unconvincingly. 

Ghoul’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t get a motorcycle down into the gulch anymore. Last rainy season that whole pass washed out, remember?”

“It did?” Cherri blinked.

“Yeah.” 

“Oh. I…” Cherri caught sight of Party’s throat. “What happened to your neck?”

Party’s hand flew to his bandana. “Nothing.” He tugged it further up. “Tripped and fell during the game, I guess.” 

Kobra’s eyes were darting from Party to Ghoul. 

“...Cher? Can I talk to you?” he said mildly, but he grabbed Cherri’s hand in a viselike grip and all but dragged him from the kitchen. 

~~~

Kobra shoved Cherri into his room. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Cherri said, plopping down on Kobra’s mattress. “That went beautifully! Poison had no clue how long we’d been in there waiting for him to show up, and our cover was so bad!” 

Kobra was too busy rummaging in the laundry strewn around the floor to pay any attention to Cherri. He pulled something from a pile. 

“Wish we _could_ get down to the gulch, though. I bet it’s beautif…” Cherri went on, and stuttered to a halt. “Uh, Kobra? Doesn’t that count as definitive evidence?” 

“All’s fair in love and war. And this,” Kobra said grimly, “is both.” 

He put the sock on the door and shut it firmly behind them. 

~~~

Ghoul gave Poison a smile and raised a hand for a high five. “Did we get ‘em or did we get ‘em?”

Poison left Ghoul hanging. He was gazing blankly at the doors the others had just departed through, still swinging in their wake. “They had no idea we were listening.” 

“So? Did you see Kobra’s face? I thought he was gonna puke.” 

“Ghoulie, you’re not _paying attention_.” Poison clutched the sides of his head. “They had no reason to be saying that shit, and the gulch story? Phony as fuck. Please tell me what you heard was in any other way explainable.” 

Ghoul shook his head. “I could only make out bits and pieces. They could’ve been talking about anything. But it sure didn’t sound good.” Now he was getting what Poison was trying to say. “Oh shit.”

“There has to be an expla…” Poison snapped his fingers. “I’m an idiot. We have the advantage here — We can find out exactly what they’re up to. Come on, let’s put an end to this.”

He ran out. Where the hell was he going? Ghoul followed. 

~~~

The moment the door was shut Kobra sagged into it, leaning forward and knocking his head gently against it with an audible _thunk_. “This is bad. This is really, really bad.” 

“Why, what’s wrong?” Cherri was starting to get alarmed. 

“Cherri,” Kobra said. He raised his head and turned to face him. “Ghoul had them too.”

“What?”

“The…” Kobra choked a little. “Don’t make me say it.” He put a hand to his collarbone.

“He...he did?” Cherri said quietly. 

Kobra nodded. 

“Oh.” 

Kobra sat down beside him on the mattress. He glanced at his fingers. “This can’t be happening.”

~~~

Poison tore down the old tarp from the shed wall that had been concealing the chart outlining the first stages of Kobra and Cherri’s plot. “Voilà! Their master pla...”

The chart was gone. 

“Shit,” Ghoul said. “Did they find out you’re on to them?” 

Poison shook his head numbly. “They couldn’t have. There’s no way they could.” 

The only other explanation for the missing chart was...well, Ghoul could hardly believe it. “You don’t think…?” 

Poison was slowly coming to the same conclusion. He stared at the blank wall, stunned. “I was so sure I had him figured out.”

“Did he ever _tell_ you, though? Did you ever _ask?”_

“Well nooooo, but…oh gods.” 

Ghoul had to grin in admiration. That kid was more devious than he would have ever given him credit for. “Ohohoho Destroya, is that where he goes whenever he disappears? Off to visit one of his several dozen lovelorn paramours—”

“Stop!” Poison shrieked. He sat down heavily on the nearby workbench. “Ohhhh, Phoenix Witch take me now. They only _started_ as a joke. Now they’re...”

Whoa, was he okay? Was he going to pass out? Ghoul went over to him, alarmed. “Hey, hey, it could be worse.” 

“What could be worse than this?” Poison glared at him before dropping his head into his hands. “This is the worst day of my _life._ I’ve lost my brother to a, a, a blue-haired twunk poet. I’m gonna hurl.” 

~~~

Cherri’s mind raced. He gripped Kobra’s arm. “Kobra. Think. Is there _any way_ they could have figured it out and are trying to get back at us.” 

“That can’t be it! I know there’s _something_ going on with them, they were acting weird all yesterday. But Ghoul knows about us already, remember? He’s on our side! He wouldn’t have snitched. So he wouldn’t be doing shit with Party unless he…” Kobra trailed off. 

“Oh fuck.” 

“Precisely.” 

They both sat there in silence for a long minute. Trying to think of any alternative explanation. 

“But they fight all the time!” Kobra burst out desperately. “Constantly! They’re _always_ at each other’s throats! And not like that!” 

“Unless…” Cherri said slowly, hardly daring to voice the thought. "Unless all this time it’s just been chemistry finding an...alternative outlet.” 

Kobra scowled at him. “You just had to go and say that.” 

“Sorry.”

“Holy shit,” Kobra groaned, letting himself fall back onto the mattress. He looked so ill Cherri was concerned he might actually throw up. “Oh Destroya. They really are. This is the worst day of my life.”

~~~

“Look on the shiny side! This doesn’t mean game over,” Ghoul coaxed, trying to cheer Poison up. “We still gotta get them back for all their ridiculous carryings-on, even if they aren’t faking anymore. They totally deserve it.” 

Poison wasn’t listening. “What was K thinking? He knows the house rules!”

“Well, we’re breaking the rules too, as far as anyone else knows,” Ghoul pointed out. 

Poison dropped his hands to glare at him again. “Can you stop playing devil’s advocate for two seconds? I’m trying to think!” 

“Aw, are you hurting your brain? I thought I could see smoke coming out your ears just then. Let’s get you inside if you’re gonna do that, it’s too hot out here.” 

Ghoul herded the distraught Poison back inside the diner, Poison still whispering desperately at him all the way, sheer stream-of-consciousness panic. “Ghoul, what does this mean? What do I do? Oh Destroya, do I have to give him the _talk?_ ” 

“Uh,” Ghoul said, stopping in his tracks. He squinted down the hall. Was that…? “You might be a bit late for that.” 

There was a sock on Kobra’s doorknob. 

“Phoenix fucking Witch.” Poison’s hand flew to his heart like a billion year-old southern grandma. 

“Oh I don’t think it’s the Witch they’re — whoa, crashqueen, this is not your derby!” Ghoul had to tackle Poison to hold him back when he suddenly lunged. Clearly all of Poison’s rational thinking had gone out the window. “Whatever you do, you don’t wanna go in there, trust me.”

“Mother of fuck!” Poison seethed. “I’m gonna kill him!”

Ghoul didn’t get the chance to ask Poison whether he meant Kobra or Cherri; he was too busy trying to wrestle him away. Where was Jet when you needed him? “Poison, stop! Remember the plan, yes? The plan? Take it out on me?”

Poison turned burning eyes onto Ghoul, looking ready to full-on revenge-makeout with him right then and there. 

“Not like that!” Ghoul took a hasty step back. “You promised! I don’t want your cooties. They wouldn’t see, anyway. They’re kind of occupied at the moment.” He steered Poison to the front door. “Let’s get out of here. How about a nice long drive, okay? Car time. Very soothing.” 

He bundled Poison out to the Trans Am. 

~~~

“If you’re going to throw up, just do it over there, okay?” Cherri rolled Kobra away from him so he was facing the opposite direction. 

Kobra didn’t seem to hear. He leapt up and started pacing the length of the tiny room, back and forth, dragging a hand through his hair. “I quit. I’m moving out. I’m moving to _Australia_. I don’t care if it disappeared, all the better. I am not staying under this roof another minute.”

“Kobra, hey. Calm down. It’s really none of our business if they’re fooling around.” 

“This is my _brother_ we’re talking about! He’s breaking the rules! I mean, we can do whatever we want, but the diner is totally off limits. Jet insisted, ever since we got the Girl! We’re not allowed to bring people home!”

“We’re ‘breaking the rules’ too,” Cherri said, air-quoting. 

“No we’re not!” Kobra insisted. “I didn’t _bring_ anyone! You were already here.”

Cherri frowned. “So was Ghoul.”

But Kobra wouldn’t hear it. “Well they’re breaking the rules _more._ No offense, but you’re not crew!”

“Kobra, I’m literally in your bed.”

“But it’s not _fraternizing!_ It’s not _anything!”_ Kobra ruffled up his hair. “Oh man. Jet’s gonna freak. _I’m_ gonna freak!” He looked pretty damn freaked already. 

Good grief. He was really determined to be impossible, wasn’t he. It was a common trait in the Venom Brothers, Cherri had found. 

“If it makes you feel better, we can keep this up,” Cherri offered. “Only difference is we can’t team up with Ghoul anymore.”

Kobra stopped pacing. 

“You know,” said Cherri. “Try to out-gross them? Payback?”

“You think?” Kobra brightened a little. 

“Absolutely.” There was a lot of stuff they hadn’t gotten to do yet. In Cherri’s book, it was only fair, if Party and Ghoul were going to be running around all PDA-y. 

Kobra took a slow, careful breath. 

Then he set his jaw. “What else you got?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I’m fully aware there are a lot of missed opportunities in this fic for terrible puns...I had to draw the line somewhere tho….)
> 
> Whatcha think so far? come yell at me on tumblrrrrrrrr


	4. Head Over Heels

Hindsight, as the saying goes, is 20/20. The problem with hindsight, however, is that one only receives it after the fact. 

Which was absolutely no help when it came to anyone at the diner making choices that might have averted the mayhem that occurred over the week following the assumed discoveries of the previous fateful day. 

As it turned out, a few things that would be perfectly innocuous at any other time happened very quickly, starting off a subtle yet hellish domino effect that would lead to the final and much more brutal stages of the war. 

The aforementioned dominos began to fall something like this: 

  1. Jet and the Girl borrowed Cherri’s blue truck to embark on a run scheduled to last several days, buddy-system style, leaving the rest of the diner’s residents (and guest) to their own devices. This was Jet’s first mistake. 
  2. Kobra and Cherri took their bikes to the Crashtrack — Kobra to race, Cherri to spectate. 
  3. True to the venue name for once, Kobra crashed. 
  4. For a few minutes, it was a whole thing. 
  5. Said crash proved to be less serious than Cherri feared; Kobra’s bike was intact, and Kobra was very nearly intact himself. 
  6. By sheer chance, Kobra correctly guessed the number of fingers Cherri held up to him. 
  7. Consequently, Cherri let Kobra drive himself back to the diner, thinking nothing of it. 



When they returned and got inside, Cherri ran into Poison in the hallway. 

“Oh. You’re back,” Poison said, clearly none too thrilled to see him. “Kobra won, I presume.” 

Cherri shook his head. “Not today. Wiped out on a turn.” 

“He what!?” Party whipped his head around to look for him. 

“He’s fine, he rode all the way back here! His helmet’ll need a dent beaten out of it, but it wasn’t that ba —”

_ “What!? _ Where is he?” 

“Relax, he's right behind m…” Cherri turned around. 

Kobra was nowhere to be—

No, there he was on the floor. Sprawled on his side bracing himself up off the tile with one arm, head sagging like it was too heavy to hold up, other hand still clutching the nearest piece of furniture he’d grabbed in an attempt to break his fall. 

Poison was kneeling at his side in a heartbeat. “K! What the hell happened?” 

“Dizzy,” Kobra managed. His supporting arm buckled and he pitched forward. 

Poison caught him and eased him down the rest of the way. “Hey!  _ Hey.  _ Kobra.”

Still frozen in the doorway, Cherri couldn’t move a muscle to help. Shit, he’d let Kobra drive back in this state? 

“Party,” Kobra mumbled, eyes starting to drift shut. “Tell...tell Cherri I…” And Cherri could have sworn Kobra shot him a look across the room before he went limp. 

The pronouncement nearly immobilized Poison. 

Apparently torn between yanking his own hair out in fistfuls and helping his brother, he ended up doing nothing at all for several seconds. 

Then he snapped out of it. “Hey! Stay awake, bitch, or I’ll kill you,” he threatened, patting Kobra’s cheek sharply. “Don’t think I won’t. No, I’ll kill  _ him,”  _ he changed his mind, glaring at Cherri, and at that Kobra’s eyelids fluttered. “There you go. Eyes open.  _ Thank _ you.” 

Kobra clearly hadn’t been faking the injury, and Cherri had to admire his brilliant improvised contribution to the war effort in his impaired state. Even on the verge of passing out, his timing was impeccable. 

The only downside to Kobra’s deliberately half-finished declaration was that Cherri was now on the receiving end of a shitton more murderous looks from Party than before. Neither of them broached the subject, however, and Cherri waited out the concussion watch period with Kobra without leaving his side anyway, making sure he never dozed off for more than an hour or two at a time. Kobra was rather miserable for the next day and had the balance pretty much knocked out of him for the first half of that, but true to form stubbornly refused to take anything for the impressive lump on the side of his cranium. 

To all observers, Cherri was playing the perfect concerned boyfriend at Kobra’s bedside. Which was pretty much the exact same way he’d play the concerned  _ friend _ friend he genuinely was, so no one was the wiser. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fic writers can have little a whump. as a treat
> 
> jk this is actually important setup for the next chapter, which is lowkey the most mortifying of all...
> 
> (sorry this one is so short!!! some of the others are really long to make up for it, so)


	5. The Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR secondhand embarrassment warning in this chapter lmaooo  
> f in the chat for Party everyone

The day after the accident Party found Kobra in the kitchen, sipping coffee. He was still sporting an impressive lump on the side of his head, but when Party had asked him after he’d collapsed, he’d known what year it was and that Madame Director was in power (not that anyone else had ever been in power during their lifetime, but whatever), so surely he was fine. Though he looked pathetically sleep deprived and groggy, he was valiantly staying awake for a few more hours to be on the safe side. Hence the caffeine. 

Should he be drinking that shit at this point after a possible concussion? Party didn't know, so he didn’t bother trying to take it away from him. This was going to be difficult enough as it was. 

He’d had a while now to think — agonize, more like — and he couldn’t put this off any longer. It simply had to be done. There was no one else to do it. No way Jet was going to volunteer to do it for him, even if he asked nicely, so he hadn’t even bothered. Jet wasn’t here anyway, and who knew when he’d be back. 

He hated being the oldest sometimes. 

“Um. How are you?” Party said, approaching him. Casual. Act casual. “Feelin’ okay?” 

“Sure.” Kobra gave him a dubious look. “Are _you?”_

“Me?” Party blanched. Did he really look that nervous? “Great! I’m great. Fantastic. Never been better.” He reached for the coffeepot to pour a cup of the nasty brown sludge for himself so he’d have something to occupy his hands. Ick, his palms were sweating.

Kobra was still studying him. “Did you need something, Party?” 

“No! Nope, not me. I’m...you know...chillin’. Just chillin’.” Shit, he did _not_ want to do this. He didn’t even know where to start. 

Party closed his eyes briefly and steeled himself. 

“Uh. About the other day,” he began. 

A pause. That didn’t bode well.

“What about it,” Kobra said cautiously. 

“I just.” Party rubbed his forehead. Oh fuck, here he went. “I just want to make sure you’re being safe as you can? Just because you go head over heels doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take..." He winced. "Precautions.” 

Kobra’s brow furrowed. “Party...is this about the race?” 

He shot Party a significant glance over his mug. 

“Yes! Yes,” Party lied, immensely relieved that Kobra had caught on and was offering him a way to do this in code, thank the Witch. Party hadn't even thought of that. He shot Kobra a significant look back. “' _Racing'.”_

“It’s not Cherri’s fault,” Kobra said quickly. “He thought I was fine.”

 _“What?”_ Party shrieked, heart leaping into his throat. He _was_ going to kill that bastard. “You’re not _fine?_ And you didn’t say anything!? Phoenix _Witch,_ Kobra!”

“I’m fine! I’m fine! Look at me, I’m fine!”

“Kobra. Was it _always_ fine.”

 _“Yes,”_ Kobra insisted. “I just wasn’t thinking too clear at the time, that’s all. It’s a lot better now.” 

Yeeckh, waaaaaay too much information. “You’re _certain.”_

“Yes!”

“Good.”

“Okay.” 

“Fine. I won’t kill him, then.” Party let out a long sigh. Thank fuck. Glad he’d cleared that up. Now, where were they? “Anyway. I know it’s not easy to be safe, out here, exactly. I just need to know you’re doing your best to be, uh, careful.” He took a sip to stop himself from rambling. 

“I dunno why you’re getting on my case now all of a sudden,” Kobra said reasonably. “I’ve been doing it since forever.” 

Party spewed coffee. 

“Right,” he choked out. News to him. He’d really read Kobra wrong all this time, huh. Very, very wrong. He must be one stealthy sonofagun, too. More of one than Party would’ve ever given him credit for. Yikes. This was going to be harder than he thought. 

Kobra stiffly wiped the coffee droplets off his jacket. “You _sure_ you’re okay." 

“Fuckin’ fantastic,” Party gagged, trying to regain his composure. “I just thought...you know. Thought I’d mention it.”

Kobra sighed. “Party, I’m well aware of the risks. But just ‘cuz I could get hurt doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it at all.” 

“Oh. No, I wasn’t saying…I know you know that...Just make sure it’s really what you want, okay? Don’t, erm, feel the need to go too fast.” 

The crease in Kobra’s forehead appeared again. “It’s racing, Party.” 

“I know, I know! And look, maybe you like... _joyriding_ all over the place, but that doesn’t mean y—”

“I don’t.”

“Ooookay, glad to hear it. Just.” Ugh, he could not believe he had to say this. “Just wear your helmet, yes?”

“I always wear my helmet!” 

“Good for you! Just checking. No need to get snippy with me, damn.” This was not going well. But he couldn’t get Ghoul’s speculation out of his head — _Is that where he goes whenever he disappears? Off to visit one of his several dozen lovelorn paramours?_ “What I mean is...well, you’re not going around...oh Destroya...jumping on random people’s bikes, right?” 

“I...I like the one I have just fine,” Kobra said, looking even more puzzled. 

“Of course! Of course. So happy for you. Drive off into the sunset and all that, great.” 

Kobra rubbed the back of his neck like he was trying to ease a headache. “What would you know about it anyway? You don’t even ride.” 

“I do!” Party spluttered. Destroya, he had been wrong before — _this_ was clearly the worst day of his life. 

“Oh?” Kobra said. “Since when?” 

“Since — since—” Wait, was that a trick question? Kobra was one devious motherfucker, trying to get him to confess or deny his thing with Ghoul. _That_ game was still on. “Nevermind! Oh, sonofa...” 

Kobra lifted one eyebrow slightly, daring him to continue. 

Party was starting to run low on metaphors, and he’d lost track of everything he had been planning to say a long time ago. “That’s all I wanted to know. I won’t even rat you out to Jet.” He said it grudgingly so Kobra would know it was an _extraordinarily_ charitable favor he now owed Party back for, but truthfully, Party just wanted to wash his hands of the whole affair. When Jet inevitably found out, Kobra could deal with _that_ fallout himself. 

“Okay,” Kobra said. 

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

“Great.”

“Cool.”

Another extremely awkward silence. 

Party set his cup down on the counter. “Take it easy for a while, maybe,” he concluded lamely. “Get some rest. Don’t, uh, get back on that bike too soon, huh?” He patted Kobra on the shoulder. “Make sure you’re up to it.” 

And Party hightailed it out of there like Korse himself was on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's TRYING. My heart goes out to Party, really it does. Dear me. 
> 
> Poor Kobra, meanwhile, remains totally clueless...


	6. Paint the Town Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has vague references to [Reflections](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20637266), which I will freely admit turned out weird as heck and skirted all the actual worst stuff because it was Party telling Kobra about it and Party doesn't remember much about certain things anyway.

“Pretty sure he’s starting to get suspicious,” Party said. He clambered up to the very top rung of the ladder and tagged his still-dripping piece in red with his scrawling signature symbol. 

“Oh?” said Ghoul. His tongue stuck out of his mouth a little as he tried to aim his green paint at a particularly high spot. “You gonna hog that ladder all night?”

“He was asking questions, getting real nosy.” Party’s paint sputtered before he could complete the circle. Dammit. He hopped down from the stepladder they’d brought along and wrenched the can tip off. 

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothin’!” 

“Well, I don’t blame him for being suspicious. It’s not like we’ve had the chance to do much since we started.” 

Party flung an arm out at their surroundings — even under this highway bridge, the nearly-full moon was bright enough in the cloudless sky that they could see for miles — “What do you call this, then?” 

(“These bathroom trysts are getting kind of old, don’t you think?” he had asked Ghoul musingly earlier that evening as Ghoul touched up his eyeshadow hickeys, adding in some yellow and green to make them look as old as they should be and adding a few new fresh ones for good measure, “Why don’t I take you on a real date?” Ghoul had just smirked at the word. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”) 

Bombing was what Party’d had in mind. The painting variety, not the sending-a-BL/Ind-stronghold-sky-high variety — though he had to admit that would make for a pretty sweet date, too. Maybe next time. 

“At least we’re not breaking the rules right now,” said Ghoul. “See? Not at the diner, Jet!” 

“Still fraternizinggggg,” Party singsonged, wagging a finger. 

Ghoul made a face at him and stole his ladder. 

“Anyway, this bridge is very well and good, but there’s an absolutely sick heaven spot I wanna slam sometime,” Party rambled happily. “You know that bridge that’s a straight shot across from the pig outpost just north of Route G outside of Two? Blank as a fresh canvas. Imagine doing a throwie or hell, even a piece on that beauty, it’d run for _years_. A lifetime, maybe. I’d be an angel for sure.” 

Ghoul scowled at him the same way he did sometimes when he didn’t have his hearing aids in. “What?”

“Forget it.” Party wasn’t Ghoul’s walking burner dictionary. Ghoul dabbled in graffiti a little — most joys did — but he wasn’t a serious writer. Party set his cannon upside-down on the ground and gave it a well-aimed stomp to dent in the bottom a little, increase the pressure a bit so he could get enough remnants of paint out to complete his tag. “I gotta up my game anyway. Didja see what happened to my wildstyle on the outside of the city wall? Totally cramped by spot jocking. Clipped, even. Fuckin’ toys ‘n biters. Z-1’s crawling with ‘em.” 

“Whatever you say.”

Party strode over to the ladder Ghoul had snitched and gave it an impatient jostle. "Hurry it up, I need to finish mine. Just wish I had somethin’ besides these damn sucker tips.” 

Ghoul burst into giggles. _“Excuse me?”_

“You know,” Party said loftily. “Stock caps. Nozzles. If you find any old aerosol cans around, you’ll give ‘em to me, right? Cuz you can get the caps off ‘em to replace these ornery bastards and get different lines.” 

“Right. All yours.” Ghoul relinquished the ladder and Party whisked it back to his place to finish his signature. 

Then he jumped off and backed up to study his handiwork. As much as he’d like having more control over the medium, there was something beautiful about the messiness of this. The unpredictability. Taking whatever chaos happened to come out of a shitty cannon and working with it.

Hmm. And speaking of the prank war, he’d better up his game there, too. 

Party swung his can around to send a well-aimed spray of red at Ghoul. 

Ghoul jumped backward, arms windmilling. “Poison!” he yelped. “I’m on laundry this week, you motherfucker! What was that for?”

“Payback, bitch.” 

Ghoul regained his balance and surveyed his now-colorful jeans with a scowl. “Aw man, this is never gonna come out.”

“I know,” Party said smugly. “Now work it into the fabric so it looks like it just rubbed off my hands, not came straight out of the can.” He wiggled his paint-stained fingers at him. 

“Huh?” Ghoul blanched. He looked down. Then back up. “Not happening.” 

“Use your sleeve cuff or something!” Party ordered, impatient. “Just don’t get it on _your_ hands.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you’ll need just green on yours. Which, coincidentally, will somehow also be all over _me.”_

“Ah,” Ghoul said, catching on. 

He tossed Party his can of green, and Party spritzed some of it onto a bit of rag and started making strategic dabs at his clothing and face. 

After a minute Ghoul abandoned doing the same with Party’s red to stare. He let out a snigger. “Damn. How handsy am I?” 

“What, too much?” Party feigned innocence.

“I’m just sayin’—”

So you wouldn’t do this?” Party taunted, finishing up the sides of his face and venturing further toward uncharted territory. Just to see what Ghoul would do. 

“Give me thaaaat!” Ghoul tackled him. 

They both hit the dirt, which, _ow_ , was much harder and colder than Party expected. Ghoul’s elbow went into his stomach — _oof_ — and Ghoul wrestled the rag away from him and smacked him across the face with it. Hard. _Ow_ again. 

“And on a first date!” Ghoul scolded. “Scandalous. You, my friend, are way too easy.” 

“Says the guy who can’t resist climbin’ all over me,” Party gritted out, a little winded. Shit, he couldn’t _breathe,_ and now his heart was stuttering with panic, and yeah, he knew he kind of deserved it cause he’d started it, but he fucking _hated_ being pinned down like this and if Ghoul didn’t get off _right now_ Party was going to seriously lose it. 

But Ghoul was already scrambling off him, thankfully not seeming to have noticed his sudden distress. “You’re impossible.” 

“So I’ve been told,” Party said, lightly as he could manage. The blood pounding in his ears started to recede, and he cautiously got to his feet. 

Ghoul just shook his head. “If you’ve resorted to flirting with _me_ , dude, you seriously need to get out more.” 

Party kicked his empty can away and tucked his hands under his arms. This wasn’t fun anymore. When had it gotten so cold? “Can we blow this joint already? It’s _freezing_.” 

“I’d’ve been done sooner if you weren’t hogging the ladder,” Ghoul shot back. He gestured to himself. “Ready for our grand return entrance? How do I look?”

“Thoroughly debauched,” Party said. “Hey, guess what’s worse than just fooling around?”

“What?”

“Foolin’ around... _and_ fallin’ in love.” 

Ghoul let out a snigger. “Destroya. You _are_ the devil.” 

“Sure am. You thinking what I’m thinking?” Party collapsed the ladder and started hauling it to the Trans Am. 

Ghoul grinned and slung their bag of paintcans over his shoulder. “I’m thinking confessions. I’m thinking moonlight. I’m thinking romance, mush, sap. Every trope in the book.” 

Party beamed back. “I love your mind sometimes.” 

“Shut your mouth!” Ghoul reached over to give him a shove, still grinning. “You can’t just go around dropping the L-bombing like that, Poison!” 

“Oh, sugar,” Party drawled, skipping out of reach. “You should know by now that I’ll do exactly as I please. _Sweetheart,”_ he added for good measure. 

“Now you just sound like Pony. What’s the play gonna be, then?”

“This one _will_ take some actual planning. We can rehearse on the way back. If you’re free tomorrow night, I think that’ll be our best shot at pulling it off. Full moon and all that.” 

“Can’t think of a better way to spend an evening than trying to make Snake Boy swear off pastels for life,” Ghoul said cheerfully. He tossed his bags in the back and took a seat up front. 

Party slid into the driver’s seat. It’d be tough to stick to the rules and avoid any definitive statements. The whole diplomatic, issue-skirting, subtext stuff was definitely more Kobra’s thing, and the kid was way too well-practiced in using it to pull off the shadiest of deals and walking away without so much as a scratch. 

But Party was no stranger to half-truths and narrowly avoiding lies, himself. And they had to clinch this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i lied. okay NOW sad hours are over lol
> 
> Graffiti glossary time!  
> I had so much fun researching this stuff. Of course the art-obsessed Poison would know all the slang, leaving poor hobbyist Ghoul in the dust. 
> 
> Bombing = to go out writing  
> Heaven spots = difficult places to reach, making art harder to remove but also more dangerous for the artist. Greatly increase an artist’s rep.  
> Slam = To paint an extremely conspicuous or dangerous location  
> Throwie = i.e. throw-up, a tag-like drawing of bubble letters designed for quick execution  
> Piece = an elaborate painting, more complicated than a simple tag or throw-up. Short for masterpiece.  
> Run = The length of time art stays up before being removed or covered over. So if a piece has been up for a year, people would say it "ran for a year."  
> Angel = a famous or highly respected graffiti artist who has passed away  
> Wildstyle = Graffiti with text so stylized as to be difficult to read, often with interlocking, three-dimensional type  
> Spot jocking = when someone puts up work next to a popular artist because it will gain them attention  
> Toy = derogatory term for an unskilled, new or inexperienced graffiti artist  
> Biter = a graffiti artist who steals ideas from other artists  
> Burner = IRL, this term refers to a particular type of graffiti art, but in the DD universe it’s zone slang for "career" graffiti artists  
> Writer = graffiti artist  
> Sucker tip = the stock tip that comes with a can of spraypaint, slang derived from the common sentiment that only a sucker would use a stock tip. (However, it’s worth noting that many famous writers used nothing but stock tips.)  
> Cannon = a spraypaint can


	7. And I Can't Ever Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Kobra's worst nightmare comes true...

Kobra stepped around a solar panel and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. From the rooftop, the velvety black-blue sky above was so clear and close that he could see the faint pinprick lights of the vast starscape even behind his sunglasses. 

The only reason he still had them on at all after dark was the moon was full and incredibly huge and bright, casting weird blue shadows on the hodgepodge of solar panels Kobra was strolling between to keep awake, keep warm.

Alone on the roof for the night, it was as good an opportunity as any for Kobra to start scheming the next stage of his plan, but the inspiration simply wasn’t coming. What could possibly be left that they hadn’t already tried to rile Party with? Besides, some of the fun had definitely waned now that his brother and Ghoul were… were…

He didn’t know what they were. 

The previous night the two of them had come bursting in after dark, noses pink and cheeks flushed from the cold. At least, that’s what Kobra desperately hoped it was from. They’d clearly been out tagging shit — each had their own favorite paint color all over their hands. 

And on each other’s faces and clothes. 

He was trying _very_ hard not to think about _that._

Below him, the front door slammed, and whoever had slammed it sat down on the doorstep, by the sound of it. Kobra didn’t feel like socializing, so he kept quiet and didn’t invite whoever it was up. 

He didn’t hear them start doing anything down there, though. Just stargazing then, he supposed. 

He couldn’t see who it was because they were under the awning, but it had to be either his brother or Ghoul. Jet and the Girl were still away, and Cherri was probably fast asleep in Kobra’s room even though it was barely a half hour past sunset. (Cherri was perpetually exhausted, it seemed, and could nod off anytime and anywhere, superpowerlike. It was kind of a miracle Kobra ever got to see him awake at all. He had no idea how the guy got any of the approximate 14 billion odd jobs done that he seemed to have going at any one given time. Cherri must not have a nightmare problem. That or he was just so used to them by now that he didn’t care anymore.)

The door slammed again. Someone else had come outside. 

“Company?” Party’s voice. A shuffling noise as he sat down next to who, by process of elimination, had to be Ghoul. Shiny. That couldn’t be good.

“Sure.” More shuffling as Ghoul scooted over. 

A paperlike rustling. A cigarette carton, maybe, although oddly no matchstrike followed. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it.” Ghoul’s voice again. 

A brief pause. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” 

Kobra didn’t need to see it to imagine what — who, rather — Party was looking at when he said it. 

Bleagh. Gross, but whatever. That was nothing new. Party thought everyone was beautiful. 

Another pause. Much longer. 

Then: “Where’s K?” Party’s voice again. 

“Out with Cherri somewhere, I think. Thought I heard ‘em driving off a while ago.”

Well that had just been Kobra testing out a sticky gear. Wait, so they didn’t know he was up here? 

Just as well. He already felt like he was encroaching on something awkwardly private. 

Party sighed. “Those two. I was kinda surprised at first.”

Shit, he was being talked about. Kobra listened closer. 

Ghoul snorted. “Understatement.” 

“Touché,” Party scoffed, then went on all in a rush: “And I know _we've_ been friends for a long time, I wouldn't trade it for anything, Ghoulie, not even for the fun we've had lately, but — but...”

 _Fun?_ What kind of — Yikes. Okay, super gross. Kobra grimaced. So he had been right about that, at least.

“...but seeing ‘em so happy together…” Party trailed off. 

“Yeah?” Ghoul prompted him quietly. 

“Nothin’. Just got me to thinking.” There was something strange about Party’s tone. Too carefully casual. “About what...what I want. What I could have someday.”

“Yeah?” Ghoul said again, sounding a little choked. 

With morbid curiosity Kobra strained his ears. What in the world was his brother getting at? 

Party huffed, a self-deprecating noise. “Stupid, huh.”

“I…” said Ghoul in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t think it’s stupid.” 

Party’s breath hitched, almost inaudibly. 

What the hell? Kobra started inching closer to the roof’s edge. 

“Ghoulie—” Party began. 

Kobra’s boot slipped. Shit, _shit!_ He reeled, the roof’s edge suddenly much to close for comfort, and stumbled backward noisily into a solar panel. 

He froze, heart racing. 

Nothing happened. 

Kobra exhaled slowly. Thank fuck. Somehow they hadn’t heard him. 

Wait. Why weren’t they talking anymore down there? 

Then there was more rustling. Muffled...noises. 

What on Destroya’s dry earth were they doing down there? Were they—?

Oh. 

Oh gods. 

Kobra squeezed his eyes shut. Surely when he opened them he would wake up and this would all be a nightmare elaborately conjured by his worst subconscious fears. 

He opened them, and was still on the roof. He counted his fingers, once, twice. Nothing changed. 

Oh shit, oh _fuck_. Kobra was going to hurl. He had to get out. He swallowed hard and looked around frantically; he was trapped. There was no way to escape without making his presence known. 

He clapped his hands over his ears, wishing desperately to be anywhere but here.

But he couldn’t drown out the sound of Party’s voice, rough and urgent. “Inside. _Now.”_

The front door slammed again, leaving Party’s thoroughly traumatized baby brother alone on the roof with only an all-too vivid imagination for company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...or does it? Stay tuned, Party and Ghoul's POV is up next.


	8. I Held You Close As We Both Shook

After Ghoul had gone out the front door, Party waited a while to follow. The timing had to seem natural. 

All was going according to plan. Kobra had slipped outside a few minutes ago — Party could faintly hear his footsteps overhead now — and everyone else was gone or asleep. Ideally, Cherri would be up there with Kobra, but he was already passed out. Whatever. Party didn’t care too much about him; Kobra was the one who Party really wanted to get back at. 

He finished sorting his stacks of paper napkins and carried them outside. Ghoul was waiting for him on the doorstep. 

“Company?” Party said casually. He took a seat beside Ghoul, who was ghostly blue in the moonlight. 

“Sure.” Ghoul raised a bewildered eyebrow when he saw what Party was holding. _Scripts?_ he signed. _What are we, fuckin’ Shakespeare in the park?_

Party handed Ghoul the appropriate pile, scrawled with cues in permanent marker. They had to be careful not to say anything that couldn’t be explained away as something innocent. _Just a cheatsheet. You’re first, go, go._

Ghoul shot him a glare like, _you have got to be kidding me_. But he squinted at the first napkin and recited: “Beautiful, isn’t it.” 

His tone was so perfectly deadpan Party almost erupted into laughter right there. He bit his lip, trying to keep his breathing steady. 

Once he finally had it under control: “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” 

Ghoul’s eyes crinkled up with barely suppressed mirth. _Seriously? We’re overdoing it! He’s never gonna fall for this, you_ [some sign Party didn’t recognize immediately]. _Cheeseball_ , maybe. 

_It’s R-O-M-A-N-T-I-C,_ he signed back indignantly. 

Ghoul rolled his eyes. 

Oh shit, Party had more lines, didn’t he. He consulted his own napkin again. “Where’s K?” 

For this to be believable, they needed an excuse to be out here because Kobra knew that _they_ knew that Kobra was usually on the roof at this hour and they would be at risk of being overheard. 

“Out with Cherri somewhere, I think,” Ghoul read. “Thought I heard ‘em driving off a while ago.” He was starting to warm up to this. A little less stiff, a little more casual. 

He bounced his eyebrows up and down suggestively at Party. Party looked away quickly so he wouldn’t giggle, one hand shooting out to silently grip Ghoul’s arm hard, a threat. If Ghoul did that again, he was gonna break. 

Oh gods, they were so evil. This was way more fun than it should be. 

No sign from the rooftop above that they were being eavesdropped on, though. Party felt a twinge of doubt. Was Kobra even up there? Were all these brilliant theatrics in vain? 

Nothing for it but to keep going, he guessed. He heaved a sigh and glanced down at his next napkin. “Those two. I was kinda surprised at first.”

Ghoul let out a snort, his cue cards momentarily forgotten. “Understatement.”

A faint creak from the roof. A footstep? Kobra _was_ up there. Score. 

“Touché,” Party admitted. He shot Ghoul a warning look — _stick to the script, okay? —_ and took a deep breath so he could rattle off his third napkin: “And I know we've been friends for a long time, I wouldn't trade it for anything, Ghoulie, not even for the fun we've had lately, but — but—” 

He felt the giggle bubbling up in his throat and had to stop. He choked it down, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood. 

He could feel Ghoul shaking with silent laughter beside him, but he didn’t dare look in his direction for fear they’d both completely lose it. 

He focused on his breathing. Breath, Party, breath. You can do this. 

Once he felt somewhat confident in his ability to not burst out with an incriminating noise, he managed to finish: “But seeing ‘em so happy together…”

Ghoul had gotten himself under control enough to prompt him to continue. “Yeah?” 

Suuuuper awkward. Just as Party intended. 

“Nothin’. Just got me to thinking,” he went on. “About what…” Godsdammit, he was about to break again. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. “What I want. What I could have someday—” 

“Yeah?” was all Ghoul got out before he had to let go of his napkins to clamp both palms over his mouth. 

That nearly sent Party off. He choked down a wheeze and bit his sleeve. His throat was seizing up. Pull it together, Party, jeez. “Stupid, huh.” 

Ghoul was desperately trying to collect his napkins now. They had gone flying everywhere. 

Shit, their lines! Party scrambled to help him, but they were hopelessly out of order. 

Ghoul shook his head at him like, _too late, scrap ‘em._ There were tears in his eyes. 

There had been lots more, real sappy shit, everything from music metaphors to pet names to thinly-veiled innuendos. Maybe it was just as well; Party might have gotten a little carried away with that part. 

_Just say something! Improvise, improvise!_ Party signaled frantically at Ghoul to continue. 

“I…” Ghoul whispered, hoarse. “I don’t think it’s stupid.” 

He clamped a hand back over his mouth so comically fast that it made Party’s breath hitch. This was _ridiculous_. “Ghoulie—”

A loud clatter overhead. 

Ghoul’s eyes met Party’s, and they both almost lost it for real. 

Ghoul kicked his heels up, rocking onto his back on the step and convulsing with the effort of not making a sound. There were tears streaming down his face. 

Party bit his sleeve again helplessly. His stomach muscles _hurt_. They had to cut this short or they were going to ruin everything. 

He was shaking so hard he could barely sign with his free hand. _RUN!_

“Inside. _Now,”_ he gasped, hauling Ghoul upright. They had to get out of here. 

They stumbled indoors. 

Safely out of easy earshot, Ghoul made a beeline for the nearest pillow and faceplanted into it to stifle his howls of laughter. 

Party collapsed next to him, helpless. He couldn’t breath. He was laughing so hard he had a stitch in his side, but the way Ghoul was quaking uncontrollably beside him and making muffled wheezing noises was too funny for him to be able to stop. 

Maybe it wouldn't be for the reason Kobra feared, but they were both going to be hella sore tomorrow. 

All in all, Party decided, a successful mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to escalate.....
> 
> Thoughts, memes, questions? come yell at me at [ kryptidkat](http://kryptidkat.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


	9. CHRIS IS THAT A WEED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall remember the #zoneweed era on tumblr? Not quite as funny as when Tommy sold Zone 3, but good times.
> 
> Anyhoo, don't do drugs, kids.

Cherri opened his eyes to find Kobra’s face inches from his own. He made a startled sound. 

“Thank fuck, you’re awake. Finally. I need to talk to you,” Kobra said, pulling him upright. 

Saints, Kobra looked _awful._ His hair looked like he’d been yanking on it, he was practically twitching, and his eyes were frankly a little crazy. How long had he been staring at Cherri waiting for him to wake up? 

“Kobra what the hell?” he said, bewildered. “Did someone die?”

Kobra wasn’t listening. “Cherri,” he said miserably. _“We_ did this.”

“Kobra. Who. Died.”

“Worse. Party and Ghoul went all pastel over each other.” 

“WHAT?” Cherri was wide awake now. 

“This is all our fault.” Kobra wrung his hands. “We had to go and start this nonsense and now we somehow got them together. Like, officially. If we hadn’t started this damned prank thing none of this would have happened. Fuck.”

Cherri sat up and tried to wrap his brain around this new development. “What happened?”

But after several minutes of interrogation, he couldn’t get any more information out of Kobra than “Stuff. Things. Bad things”; Kobra was too busy pacing the floor with one arm tucked tight across his chest and his other elbow propped on it, biting at his thumbnail. 

Cherri pulled his chain and dog tags off over his head and held them out as Kobra went by. Kobra took them automatically to fidget with instead, hardly noticing. 

“Kobra,” Cherri said finally, watching him go back and forth across the tiny room. “Again. Is there _any_ chance at all that Poison is onto us and roped Ghoul in to some convoluted revenge plot?”

“You didn’t _hear_ them!”

Whoa, okay, Kobra was really upset about this. And if he shouted like that again they would definitely get overheard. 

“Hey, KobraKid, let’s go. This way. That’s it.” Cherri ushered him out to the backyard.

“Cher, they’re not just fooling around anymore. They’re gonna tear this crew apart.” Kobra made a mindless beeline toward his bike. “It doesn’t _work._ There’s a reason for the rules. What happens in the burning building scenario? What happens when they fight or break up and fuck up the whole dynamic?”

Shiny. He was spiraling, he wasn’t making any sense. Cherri trailed after him, snatching up his dog tags from the ground where Kobra had dropped them to fumble for the keys in his jeans pocket. “Kobra, where are you going? Don’t be stupid.”

“Move.” Kobra brushed him aside. 

“Kobra, your helmet’s inside, I can’t let you leave without it. Anyway, it’s busted.”

“I have to go. I can’t think, I can’t —” 

Kobra could get in serious trouble if he went off alone in this state, and Cherri was running out of ways to persuade him to stay. And if he actually tried to get physical, Kobra leave anyway, the only difference being Cherri would get his ass kicked first. 

As a last resort — a terrible one, but what the hell — Cherri held up a box he fished out of his jacket. “At least have one with me before you go?” 

Kobra actually paused. Considered. “Is it any good?” 

“This?” Cherri scoffed, amused. “Definitely not.” 

Kobra did that one-shouldered shrug thing he did, and Cherri took that as permission to grab his arm and steer him toward the shed. 

~~~

“Didn’t know you smoked this stuff,” Kobra said from somewhere beside him. 

Somehow, no matter where they were or what they were doing, they usually ended up like this eventually. Next to each other on their backs. Just chilling. 

Cherri wondered vaguely why that was. He blinked up at the network of cobwebs on the shed ceiling forming wispy, unfamiliar constellations. Thin trails of smoke curled up to meet them. It looked really cool. “I don’t usually.” 

“Really? Allow yourself _one_ vice, Cherri, damn.”

Cherri laughed at that, a laugh that turned into a long sigh by the end and accidentally ended up sounding much more tired than amused. “Oh, KobraKid.” He’d had enough of those to last a lifetime. 

Kobra was silent for a long moment. “Sorry.”

“Nevermind. It was a throw-in on a trade. Was gonna take it to the market and try to get a carburetor for it, but I figured we could use the inspiration.” 

Kobra just hummed. “I had the weirdest conversation with Party the other day,” he said after a minute. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah.” Kobra passed him the joint. 

“What’d he say?” 

“He just went on and on about the perils of motor racing. Which was like. Weird. He used to give me shit about it all the time, back when I’d just started and he was convinced I was gonna break my neck. I mean, he still doesn’t like it, but I thought he’d given up on lecturing me about it years ago.” 

“Huh,” Cherri said. “That is weird. Speaking of racing, dude, sorry about not noticing you were in such a bad way. I should have—”

“Hey. I was the one who didn’t tell you I could barely see straight.” 

“What you said, though…” Cherri giggled. Kobra had really made an art form out of this whole prank war thing. “That’s what I call dedication to the craft. You probably missed it cuz you kind of blacked out for a second, but your brother was _livid._ For a minute there I didn’t think I was going to survive the night.” 

Kobra was still stuck on the lecture he’d gotten, though. “He’s such a hypocrite. He does dangerous shit all the time! I mean, what is his problem, trying to tell me what I can and can’t do?” He propped himself up on one elbow, so righteously indignant that he couldn’t get the words out in the right order. “I am an ass. Grown. Adult. Okay?” 

Cherri burst into a whole string of helpless giggles. 

“‘S not funny!” Kobra grabbed the joint back. “Our pastelling-around aside, he’s probably going to try to kick you out for being a bad influence on me.” 

“Hey. How does he know _you’re_ not the bad influence on _me?”_

“I’m not the one who offered to light up a whole case of zoneweed.”

“Only one!” Cherri protested, another giggle escaping. (Hey, at least Kobra wasn’t alone while he was getting baked out of his mind this time. Despite his visceral aversion to pills, Kobra apparently didn’t mind at all being under the influence of other substances if he knew they didn’t come out of some BL/Ind factory. Cherri wouldn’t even put using purple sugar past him, though he’d never caught him at that one. And normally being reminded of this would concern Cherri, but seeing as he was just as stoned as Kobra was at the moment, it didn’t really seem like that big of a deal.) “Only one, one, thingy.” His vocabulary was starting to escape him. 

“One zoneweed,” Kobra snorted, because that made sense. “Anyway, I’m sick of him treating me like a little kid.”

That just made Cherri giggle even harder. “You _are_ a kid!” 

_“Just_ Kid. There’s a _difference,”_ Kobra struggled to explain over the sounds of Cherri losing it. “Like, like, Billy the Kid. Captain Kidd. Captain...Crunch. Shredded wheat. Lucky Charms.” 

“Raisin — ” Cherri tried to contribute, gasping out the words in between breathless laughter like it was the funniest joke he would ever tell — “bran!” 

“ _Exactly!_ Thank you,” Kobra said, vindicated. “Cornflakes. Fruit loops.” 

“You’re a fruit loop.” 

“Your mom’s a fruit loop.” 

Damn, Cherri was hungry. Smoking on an empty stomach had probably been a really bad idea, actually. Oh well. Bit late for that now. 

He reached over in Kobra’s general direction, patting around. Kobra handed over the smoldering stub he was looking for. 

“Him and Ghoul, huh,” Cherri said. 

“Fuck, don’t remind me. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Cherri blinked. “Why not?” 

Good thing they were both totally stoned right now. Else Kobra would be gagging in a corner just from thinking about any of this, let alone talking about it. 

“He’s just never gone steady before. Not that I know of. Actually, I’ve never seen him with _anyone.”_

“What?” Cherri found _that_ hard to believe. And yet, to be fair, Poison was the type of guy who seemed to be able to acquire a certain reputation without even trying, and Cherri had never seen any actual evidence of said reputation besides him flaunting himself at strangers in the market to get something he wanted. That and some, uh, extreme karaoke performances. “Well, maybe he’s sneaky about it.” 

Kobra hummed skeptically. “Party talks big, but he...he had a bad time of it, when we first got out. I’d sort of thought he’d written off that shit for good.” 

Oh. Cherri hadn’t known that. 

He wondered if he should change the subject before Kobra started telling him more things that probably weren’t his to tell. 

But Kobra was already moving on. “Not that it ever stopped him from gettin’ infatuated with anyone in sight. He falls for random strangers he plays chicken with on Route G, for fuck’s sake. An admire-from-afar type, you know? Crushes _hard._ It’s completely insufferable, believe me, the way he goes on about people, but only for like, a week—”

“Only a week? Even _Mad Gear?”_

“Okay, two weeks,” Kobra allowed. “And then he’s off making heart eyes at someone else completely unattainable and they never even find out about it because he avoids ‘em like the zoneflu til he's over it. He and Ghoul might have a good thing going now, but he's gonna self-sabotage it, and whose faces is it gonna blow up in when that happens? Ours." He made a frustrated, expansive gesture, indicating his whole crew.

“Hm. Might work out, though. You never know. Love is…” Cherri frowned. Usually effortless on the tip of his tongue when he was in front of a radio mic, his poetic philosophies had abandoned him, leaving him tongue-tied. “So weird,” he finished, anticlimactically. 

“Too many boxes,” Kobra said. 

They were so on the same wavelength that Cherri sometimes wondered if Kobra was a mindreader. “Exactly. Not that I mind boxes, boxes are useful. Eros and agape and shit.” There were lots more, but Cherri couldn’t remember them right now. 

“No, yeah, I’m not saying they’re not, but...”

“—But people try to…” Cherri finished Kobra’s sentence. Tried to finish it, at least. What was the word. He waved his hands around, mimicking stacking up a tower of blocks. “You know. Hyperbolize them.” No, that wasn’t it. 

“Yeah,” Kobra said anyway, like he knew what Cherri meant. Because Kobra just knew shit. 

“Hyperventilate...hypocrosize....Hierarchize!” Cherri exclaimed. That was it. Take them, for instance. What they had wasn’t some tragic _almost;_ it wasn’t second-best to anything. He was drawing a blank on how to say that. “Hierarchize them. Right? Anyhow, you can’t love any two people in the exact same way, no matter who they are, or, or, who they are _to_ you. You know? I love…” And dammit, there it went, Cherri’s train of thought left the station without him again. “...lots of people.” 

Kobra rolled on his side in one lazy movement to face him, suddenly dead earnest. “Love _you._ Love you, Cher.” 

Cherri bit his lip to keep from smiling like an idiot. Kobra had never told him that before. Maybe it was just the zoneweed talking, though Cherri couldn’t help but be genuinely touched by the chaste sentiment anyway. He'd overheard Kobra saying it to the Girl on rare occasion, when he thought no one but her could hear, like it was their little secret. But he usually wasn’t the type. 

“Love you too,” he said. What he had ever done right in this life to deserve a best friend like Kobra, he really didn’t know. 

“So much,” Kobra sighed, and went in for a kiss with no sign of being anything less than serious, making Cherri squeak with surprise before Kobra faked him out at the last possible second and planted one on his cheek. 

“Gotcha,” Kobra mumbled, and Cherri could feel him smile against his skin. 

He made a mental note not to let Kobra anywhere near this stuff again; the poor kid was probably going to be mortified later. Then again, maybe not. It was just Cherri, after all. 

This was nice, this silly thrill of hiding out in the heat of the shed like juvenile delinquents evading a strict parent, of getting to be kids for a few stolen minutes. Cherri supposed they were all on stolen time, always, but lying here you could feel it even more keenly than usual. Lying here, the entire past few weeks felt like they’d passed short as a minute; the zones had been quiet all this time and Cherri had barely noticed. Because with friends like the Fabulous Killjoys, really, you didn’t need enemies. 

Any day now the pigs would go back on patrol and everything would be life and death again, nonsense like prank wars forgotten in the very real war for their souls, their colors. 

But yeah, this was nice. As long as it could last. 

“Naffn’idea.” 

“W...what?” Cherri said, a little distracted by the fact that Kobra — normally cool as ice, standoffish _Kobra_ — was still nuzzling his face like a happy cat. 

Kobra pulled away a little. “Have an idea,” he repeated. “You in?” 

“Um. Depends.” Cherri was going to need a little more information about what Kobra was getting at. 

“It’s about time we up the fuckin’ stakes. About time we fuckin’ up the stakes, I mean,” Kobra corrected himself when Cherri snickered. “Cherri, dude! I didn’t even tell you yet! Stop, I’m being serious. Dude. Dude. Dude. Stop.” He was giggling himself now, which just made Cherri laugh even more. “Dude, this is gonna be sooo funny. Listen...” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HASHTAG LET BOYS BE FRIENDS WHO CAN SAY THE L WORD 2K20  
> *elmo fire gif*
> 
> Cherri: storge, philia, eros, agape...  
> Kobra, known dumb@$$: whoa whoa whoa, hang on, [i thought you were American](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUUwomMczeE)
> 
> sorry for bringing drugs into this but the idea of Kobra and Cherri desperately trying to have a serious philosophical discussion and getting absolutely nowhere because they're stoned out of their minds was hilarious to me


	10. When Jet Star Isn't Home

“So. What should we do next?” Party said. “Besides this, I mean.” 

Ghoul looked up from where he was playing checkers with himself on the floor (and somehow losing). He laughed. “You look like a damn streetrat.” 

Party glanced down at his charcoaly hands, a little offended. Combined with the paintstained clothes he hadn’t bothered to change since the other night — both he and Ghoul had opted to flaunt their suggestively-ruined attire in the resident lovebirds’ faces for as long as possible — he was kind of a mess. “The price of art,” he retorted loftily in his worst posh accent, flipping his drawing around for Ghoul to see. 

Ghoul’s eyebrows scrunched together a little, and Party immediately wondered if he had gone overboard, made Ghoul uncomfortable. 

He hoped it wouldn’t occur to Ghoul how long and close Party would’ve had to study him over the years to be able to quickly dash off something so thoroughly, intimately him. 

Then Ghoul just laughed again. “You’re scary good at that.”

“Think it’ll do? Drop it somewhere for unsuspecting eyes to find?”

Ghoul shrugged. “Sure.” But then his pensive expression returned and he ventured, a little quietly, “Do...do I really look like that?”

“Like what?” Alarmed, Party snatched the page back and held it up to his own face, scouring it for any flaws, any glaring mistakes. 

If you held a knife to his throat, he’d have to admit he was a little proud of the drawing. It was just a sketch, but it wasn’t a caricature. Not by any stretch. Sure, all the most noticeable features were there — the sideswept hair so black it was almost iridescent, like raven feathers; the dark eyes; the old scar mangling one side of his mouth that gave him an oddly grim, solemn look when he wasn’t grinning. But the little things were there, too, the subtle details nobody else would have missed if he’d left them out. The way he held his head, the angle of it just right. The way one eyebrow quirked up a little more than the other. The freckle under one eye. The faint dimple in his left cheek. 

There was nothing inherently romantic about the candid portrait, though Party had put as much love and care into each line as he could, hoping when he left it conspicuously lying around that whichever of their enemies found it would pick up on the tone. 

“Nothin’! Nothin’,” Ghoul said quickly, lightly. “It’s fine, just. You really _are_ talented if you can make my ugly mug look that good.” He huffed another laugh and made a triple checker-jump. Then he flipped the whole board over with one careless finger, bored. 

That was when they heard the back door bang and voices in the dining area. Cherri’s and Kobra’s. 

They were clattering around. Laughing, talking. Loudly. 

“Take it off! Kobra, I literally can’t do it unless you take it off.” 

“You’ll stare!” 

“No, I won’t!”

“Get your hands off me, I’m doing it, I’m doing it.”

“No you’re not!”

“I am!”

“Here, just give it to m—holy shit, dude.” 

“Stop looking.” 

“Hang on, I’m counting. Holy shit."

"You _said_ you wouldn't stare!"

"Six??” 

“So what? Here, take the stuff.” 

“Hooooly shit. How did I not know about this?” 

“Cherri. Get a grip.” 

“Sorry, sorry. Yeah. Turn around and hold still.” 

Then Kobra was shrieking with laughter. “Not there! Cherri, stop, I swear—” 

“You wanted this! Quit moving, you’re gonna get it everywhere!” 

Party stared a wide-eyed _What the fuck_ at Ghoul. “They can’t do that!” Phoenix Witch, that was his baby brother in there.

"We've been so quiet in here they must have thought we left," Ghoul said in a horrified whisper. “Not it.”

“ _NO._ No!” Party flailed at him in panic. “I wasn’t ready! Do-over!”

“Poison.” Ghoul looked deadly solemn, like Party was about to be led to execution and Ghoul was a mere helpless spectator. “Someone has to go.” 

“I _know,_ I _know!”_ Party hissed. “Just play fair, come on! Rock paper scissors, go.” 

_One, two, three._

They played. 

“Shit,” Party said. 

Ghoul just grinned his cheshire grin and gestured at the door with a flourish. “After you.”

“Motherfucker, you fucking _know_ I always pick scissors, ya slimy, cheatin’—”

Ghoul shoved Party bodily out of the room and shut the door behind him.

Locked out, Party jiggled the doorknob frantically to no avail. “Ghoulie! Please!” 

Ghoul just cackled. 

“After I finish with those two, you’re next,” Party snarled into the crack between the door and the doorframe, and turned to face his fate. He could still hear his brother and Cherri clattering around the common area, making an awful racket. 

“In the _dining room??"_ he shrieked, bursting in with a hand clamped firmly over his eyes. 

Silence. 

"What's that, Poison?" Cherri said politely. 

The innocence in his tone gave Party enough courage to risk peeking through his fingers. 

The first thing he registered was Kobra, shirtless — hell no — and he nearly clamped his eyes shut again before he realized— 

Cherri was drawing on Kobra’s back. With...sunscreen? 

“What in the hell are you doing?” Party said helplessly. He let his hand drop. 

“Sun tattoo! It’s gonna be a cobra. Once it tans, anyway,” Kobra said, and squirmed with another giggle. “Cher! Quit!” 

“Sorry!” Cherri tried to paint it on with a firmer hand. “Saints, I had no idea you were so ticklish.” 

“And you’ll take that pretty piece of intel to your grave, cowboy, or I’ll put a rattler in your boot, capiche?” 

“Capiche.” 

Recovering a little, Party came over to look. He snorted. “Totally a cobra. Definitely, 100 percent a cobra. Absolutely.” 

Now Kobra looked alarmed. “Cherri? What did you do?” 

“It’s a cobra, promise! He’s messing with you.” 

“Get me a mirror. Right. Now.” 

“I said promise!” 

_“I_ said, mirror!” Kobra attacked. 

Satisfied with this small revenge, Party stood back and watched Cherri run for his life around the diner as Kobra chased him. 

Ghoul — after all that fuss, the asshole — apparently couldn’t bear to miss this. He appeared right behind Party, still grinning. 

“Havin’ fun?” Ghoul asked, quiet beneath all the yelling the other two were doing, and looped an arm around Party’s side. 

Party was going to punch that smirk right off his face. “No, that’s what I’ll be having later, darling,” he murmured, venomously sweet. 

Ghoul retaliated by making direct eye contact with Cherri (who was currently struggling to escape the headlock Kobra had got him into) and territorially biting Party’s ear. 

“Ow! You sonofabitch!” Party yelled, more startled than anything. 

Okay, that was it. Change of plans. 

A sandstorm barrelling through, perhaps. A coyote attack. Or maybe just a really tragic banana-peel-on-the-floor situation. 

Whatever scenario Party settled on, he was going to murder _everyone_ in this diner and make it look like an accident. Starting now.

~~~

“Hogar dulce hogar,” Jet said cheerfully to the Girl perched beside him in the front of the blue truck. He pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Home sweet home. Good run, sunshine.”

“How do you say good run?” the Girl said. 

“Um,” Jet said, a bit put on the spot. Served him right for trying to sneak language lessons into the Girl’s education. “Uh, lemme think. Buena...correra, maybe.”

“Buena correa?”

“Sí. Gracias, tú también. Get your stuff and bring it in, please. I’ll grab the rest of it.” 

“What’s that noise?” 

Jet paused to listen to the muffled shouting coming from inside. Were they trying to kill each other in there? 

They’d probably just gotten into one of their heated games of Monopoly again. Diner Monopoly rules had some, uh, interesting modifications that meant most games ended in a screaming match, if not a full-out altercation. Like regular Monopoly wasn’t bad enough. 

He stepped out of the truck and strode to the front door. Something white fluttered on the doorstep, and he bent to pick it up. 

It was a paper napkin. With what looked like Party’s telltale scrawl on it, of all things. 

“¿Qué putas…?” he muttered, unfolding it. Maybe Party had left him a note. Why leave him a note, though, when the Trans Am was parked out back and he could clearly hear Party's voice among the yelling? 

It was not a note. 

It was part of a script. 

Jet stared down at it, a pattern starting to form in his mind. An ominous _Previously On_ flashback of all the bizarre, unexplained hijinks that had been going on before he left. 

Ohhhh shiny. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. When BL/Ind activity got slow in the zones, this was exactly the kind of shit that happened. He’d almost be glad to get a drac patrol alert about now. 

“What is it?” The Girl appeared at his elbow. 

“Uh, a message.” Jet tucked the napkin into his pocket. 

“What’s it say?” 

“That it’s a very, very good thing I came home when I did,” Jet said, bracing himself. 

The shouting inside had reached near fever pitch. He had to get in there. 

Jet opened the door. 

One thing was for certain: They weren’t playing Monopoly. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight he beheld. By all appearances Party was doing his best to strangle Ghoul, and both their outfits were both conspicuously smeared with each other’s signature paint colors. Meanwhile, Cola was playing a desperate, clumsy game of keepaway with Kobra over a handmirror. Kobra didn't have a shirt on, for some fucking reason. They were all yelling.

For a long moment Jet could only stare. 

Then he took the Girl's shoulders and turned her about in a neat 180. “Stay out here for a bit while I knock some sense into them, hm?” 

Without waiting for her answer, which would surely have been a protest, he stepped in and shut the door between them. 

“AM I INTERRUPTING SOMETHING?” he bellowed. 

They all froze. Blinked. 

And started yelling at _him_ instead.

“Jet, Poison’s trying to fuckin’ kill m—”

“I don’t even live here! I want nothing to do w—”

“Jet, Jet, tell Kobra and Cherri they can’t—”

“Does this look like a cobra to y—” 

“One,” Jet said. 

“But we weren’t doing anyth—”

“He deserved it—”

“I never once — that’s a lie, Jet! I was minding my own b—”

 _“Please_ tell me this looks like a c—”

“Two,” said Jet. 

“He started it! He sta—”

“I just want to know if—”

“These two are determined to destroy this cr—”

“I _told_ him it was a—”

They were seriously going to make him say it, weren’t they. “Three,” Jet said. 

Ah, blessed silence. 

He stepped into the middle of the room and looked around. “Party, hands off Ghoul’s throat. Thank you. Cola, where did you get that mirror? What are you trying to do with it, brain him? Put it down.” 

He stopped. Sniffed. 

Was that...? “Kobra, how high are you?” 

“No,” Kobra replied nonsensically, and outright giggled. That made Cola giggle, too.

Witch give him patience, Kobra and Cola were both high as kites. He didn't know why he was surprised. “Around the Girl, kid? Really?” 

“She’s not here!” 

Jet pointed behind himself. “She is now.” He knew without even looking exactly where the Girl would be. Sure enough, when he turned there she was, chin propped up on a windowsill and nose pressed up to the glass, watching the show with great interest. 

Kobra wisely subsided. 

Party practically dropkicked Ghoul toward one exit and stormed to the other. 

“Where are you two going?” Jet demanded. He wasn’t sure he could trust either of them out of his sight right now, after what he’d just walked in on. 

Party and Ghoul flipped him off in unintentional unison. 

“Out,” they said simultaneously, and slammed their respective doors. 

Jet sighed. “Beat it,” he told the others. “I’ll deal with you when you’re sober.” 

“Uh. Before we go,” Kobra ventured, not so wisely. He turned and looked over his shoulder at Jet. “Real quick. Does this look like a cob—”

“GO!”

Kobra and Cola bolted. 

Jet sighed again. He usually didn’t see any harm in a little pranking, but things had seriously gotten bad while he’d been gone. And yeah, maybe he’d managed to break things up and get them all to settle down for now, but things were only going to escalate again. He knew that from experience. Unless...

Unless he escalated them first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it really a crackfic without the Kobra sixpack reveal? I'd venture not. (inspired by [this world heritage post](https://are-you-kobra-kidding-me.tumblr.com/post/117969042405/kobra-secretly-has-abs-which-i-apparently-cant) that absolutely SENDS ME every time i see it 😂😂😂)
> 
> Spanish notes  
> (EDIT: Thank you to the anon who corrected a goof here! It should be more accurate now)  
> Sí. Gracias, tú también = yes, thanks, you too  
> Qué putas = what the hell/what the fuck


	11. Much Ado About Literally Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jet Star makes the finishing move and it is revealed that there is _much_ less “getting d*cked down at wildly inappropriate moments”* going on at the diner than previously assumed. 
> 
> *One of the most hilarious sentences in the english language I have ever come across, courtesy of one of my [ tumblr anons ](https://kryptidkat.tumblr.com/post/189094441900/i-love-your-writing-so-much-its-like-the-right) who is obviously much funnier than I am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually seeing recommending listening music for a fic makes me roll my eyes (like, don't tell me what to do, right? lol) but for maximum hilarity, feel free to start [ this playlist ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrBaeti4a6pTTiU4IpaUtwV_zfHt4O7Hy) when you see the first lyric XD (It doesn't quite line up but whatever. truly, I never realized how ominous the beginning of The Time Of My Life is until I put it in here lmaooo)

If Jet's first mistake was leaving the diner while all this mayhem was going on, perhaps his second was not putting the prank war to an end that very afternoon. 

But he was resolved to not make a third. 

That evening he had done some rummaging, eavesdropped on some key players, schemed some schemes, dabbled in some arts and crafts, and made some strategic placements. Now, this morning, it was finally time to set his intricate trap into motion. 

He loaded up with an armful of lumber scraps from a pile in the backyard — as good an excuse as any — and headed inside. 

In the dining area Party, ever the prima donna, was at the window idly floofing his hair in the reflection and experimenting with different parts. Kobra and Cola were assembling the final links in their chain of adaptors to read the usb they’d found. Jet guessed they had made up after whatever they had been fighting about yesterday. 

Cola let out a whoop and pointed at the screen. “There is is, we got it! Don’t breathe or we’ll lose the connection.” 

Kobra carefully set the final adaptor down and joined him over at the TV monitor. 

Cola put a hand over Kobra's eyes before he clicked on the folder. "Me first. These can have some nasty surprises on them." 

Kobra ducked away indignantly. "I've seen Murder zines, Cherri, I'm not _five._ We’ve been over this." 

Cola tapped on the keyboard. “Oh, nevermind. It’s a bunch of mp3s.” 

“‘For Tonya’?” Kobra squinted at the screen. 

“Huh. It’s a playlist, but I don’t recognize any of these.” 

“New music, sweet! Good find. Scroll down, let’s see ‘em all.” 

“Yeah, I haven’t heard of these guys. Bill Medley, Jennifer Warnes...Whitney Houston...oh hey, an Elvis one, that’ll be good...Celine Deon?” 

Kobra reached around Cola to tap some keys. “Here, see if we get ‘em to play.” 

Jet went past them and poked his head into the kitchen. 

Ghoul was doing the dishes with a vengeance (before anyone could _tell_ him to do them, because that made all the difference). Jet was grateful he took the initiative sometimes, though he could’ve been more careful about it. Suffice to say they had very little glass or ceramic cookware left in the diner. 

“Hey, bring me my screwdriver bits?” Jet asked casually. “My hands are full.” 

“Uh, yeah. Where are they?” 

“Top of the fridge? In the black bag thing?” 

Ghoul groaned. “All you vertically blessed people and your obsession with storing shit too high to reach, you better be building me a pair of fuckin’ stilts with that wood…” But he heaved himself up onto the counter. 

The top of the fridge was a formidable collection of junk to navigate — none of which, for the obvious reason, was Ghoul’s. With the diner’s severe shortage of storage space, it had become a catch-all for everyone else’s random tools and other small belongings. 

(By pure coincidence, in the dining room, Cherri pressed Play.) 

Ghoul grabbed the first small black canvas bag he saw among the clutter. It didn’t sound like there were screwdriver bits in it, though. He pulled the drawstring open and shook the contents out into his hand. Jet ducked out of the kitchen and left him to it. 

_Now I….had...the time of my life…_

“Ghoul? The screwdrivers, please?” Jet called from the dining room, and held his breath. This was it. 

_No, I never felt like this before…_

“PARTY, WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK!” Ghoul came tearing out of the kitchen, waving the object. He was so distraught he didn’t see a crate in the walkway and went stumbling over it, sprawling onto one knee just as Party turned around. 

“Destroya on a dirtbike!” Party yelped in alarm. “Ghoulie, shit!” 

Only one kind of bad luck bead bracelet was made in that style. 

Jet set down his lumber, barely able to contain his grin. This was unfolding better than he could have ever dreamed. 

_...I've been waiting for so long, now I've finally found someone to stand by me…_

“No, no! Poison! Fuck!” Ghoul scrambled to his feet in such haste that he almost fell over again. “Poison, I just found it! I was going to ask _you!”_

“ASK ME _WHAT?!”_ Party shrieked. 

“POISON, NO! DAMMIT! ASK YOU _WHY THE FUCK IT WAS UP THERE!”_

“THAT’S NOT MINE!” Party’s hands flew up in defense. 

_“THEN WHOSE IS IT!?”_ Ghoul waved the bracelet in Party’s face. 

A brief, baffled silence fell over the two of them. Then, like they were in a horror film, their heads slowly turned toward Kobra and Cola.

(Jet decided this was an opportune time to walk over to the front door and lock it, so he did.) 

Party snatched the bracelet from Ghoul and strode over to where his brother and Cola were staring. “CARE TO EXPLAIN THIS?” 

Kobra recoiled. “Augh! What the hell is that?!” 

“Wait, you weren’t the one who hid it up there?”

“NO!” 

(Jet walked over to the back door. He locked that, too.) 

Party turned murderous eyes on Cola. “Then what, pray tell, the fuck—”

Cola leapt up in terror. “Hey, _hey!_ Don’t look at me!” 

_….I HAD, THE TIME OF MY LIIIIiiEiIIIIFE…._

Jet observed the group, fingering his earring thoughtfully. This was the tricky bit. He could take any one of them easily. Maybe even two of them, but not everyone at once.

He would have to be clever. 

_...NO I'VE NEVER FELT LIKE THIS BEFORE...._

Party rounded on the others, holding the bracelet up between two fingers like it was cursed. “Someone needs to ‘fess up right the fuck now or I’ll—” 

“IT’S NOT LIKE THAT, I SWEAR!” 

“DON’T TRY AND SWEET-TALK YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS ONE, LOVERBOY, I KNOW A GUILTY MAN WHEN I SEE ONE!” 

“CHERRI, WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Kobra was getting scared now. 

“LIES!” Cola pointed an accusatory finger at Ghoul. “I’M BEING FRAMED!” 

(Jet approached the panicking foursome, crouched down, and swiftly completed his next task. No one noticed.)

“WHOA, HOLD THE FUCK UP, I JUST _FOUND_ THE THING!” Ghoul was yelling. “PARTY PLANTED IT UP THERE!”

(Jet went into the kitchen. He opened the junk drawer and pulled out a roll of duct tape.) 

“ME!?” Party screeched. “PERISH THE THOUGHT!”

“I’M ABOUT TO PERISH A THOT, ALRIGHT!” Kobra brandished a fist at him. 

The playlist kept blasting through the shitty tv speakers _._

_...I'll think of you every step of the waaaay...and IIIII will always love youuuuuuuu…._

“WELL, GUILTY MCGUILTFACE OVER HERE—”

“AHA, METHINKS THE GENTLEMAN DOTH PROTEST TOO MUCH!” 

(Swiftly, silently, Jet nabbed Cola out of the fray from behind, slapping a piece of tape over his mouth and trussing him to a chair with a spare computer cord.)

“HEY, _I’M_ NOT THE ONE WHO’S BEEN DOING IT IN THE GODSDAMNED KITCHEN!”

“OH, LIKE THE _BATHROOM_ IS ANY BETTER?!” 

(Party got snatched next, his muffled squawk of surprise going unheard beneath the intensifying debate. Jet taped his mouth and used most of the remaining roll to tie him to another chair.) 

Ghoul and Kobra were nose-to-nose now. Well, nose-to-chest, anyway. “YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THIS SHIT!” Ghoul shouted up at him. 

“I DIDN’T MEAN FOR _YOU TWO_ TO GO ALL PASTEL AND FUCKIN’ _PROPOSE!”_

_....AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII…._

“I COULD SAY THE SAME THING ABOUT YOU! AND FOR THE LAST TIME, THAT. THING. IS. NOT. MINE!” 

_...WILL ALLLWAYS LOOOVE YOUUUUUUU…._

“NO ONE ELSE KNEW WHERE IT WAS! WHOSE ELSE WOULD IT BE, ROMEO?” 

(And with that, Jet grabbed Kobra, stuffed a sock into his mouth and cuffed one wrist to one of the floor-bolted barstools with the plastic handcuffs from the Girl’s cops and robbers playset. Kobra could safely break loose if he had to, though Jet was counting on him being too distracted.) 

“WELL, IF _I_ DIDN’T, _SOMEONE_ HAD TO’VE PUT IT UP THERE!” Ghoul hollered. Only belatedly did he realize that he was yelling at thin air. 

“I did,” Jet said in the deafening quiet. 

The playlist was in between tracks, but the next song quickly followed. 

_Wise...men….say….only fooooools ruuush innnnnnn….._

“You what?” said Ghoul. He stared at Jet. Blinked. Then he made a run for it. 

And hit the floor _hard._

Friend and foe alike winced in sympathy. 

“ _OW,”_ Ghoul complained loudly, writhing on the floor. The laces of his grimy Converse had been knotted together. “Jet! You piece of shit!” 

“A small additional failsafe,” Jet said, none too gently rolling him onto his back with the toe of his boot. “Now do I have your attention?” 

If looks could kill, Jet would be a dust angel. “Do I have a choice?” Ghoul snarled. 

“Nope,” Jet replied pleasantly. He hauled Ghoul into a sitting position and secured him to the nearest table leg with his last scraps of tape. Then he quickly stepped back over to Kobra, who was yanking on his handcuff with escalating panic. 

Jet bent down to him. “Don't freak, please,” he said. “You gonna freak?”

Kobra stopped struggling. He just scowled and shook his head, spite apparently outweighing his fear of being restrained. 

_...but IIIIIIII caaaaaaan’t hellllp, falling in loooooove wiiiith youuuu…_

"Good." Jet straightened and clapped his hands. "Then we can get right down to it.” 

His captive audience watched him balefully. 

_“ ‘A grandes males, grandes remedios,’ ”_ Jet announced to the room. “To great evils, great remedies. More commonly phrased in english as ‘desperate times call for desperate measures.’ ” 

He pulled up a chair for himself, swiveled it around, and took a seat. 

“Now,” he went on. “Since we’re all here, there are a few things I suspect need to be cleared up.” He pulled the napkin from his pocket. “Exhibit A.”

“Where did you get that?” Ghoul demanded. 

_...like the river floooows, surely to the seaaaa, darling so it goes — some thiiiings were meant to beeeeEEEEE..._

Jet began unfolding it slowly, feigning innocence. “I found it. Why d’you ask? Do you not want me to share it with the class for some reason?”

“Hey. Hey!” 

Party thrashed in his chair and made a muffled noise of protest. “Jnt, dn’t oo derr!”

Jet cleared his throat. “ ‘I know we've been friends for a long time. I wouldn't trade it for anything...’ ”

“NGHKT?” Kobra burst out, still muffled by the sock. (And apparently unaware he could have just removed it with his uncuffed hand.) 

_Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feeeel youuuu…._

Jet stood, tucking the napkin away, and approached Kobra. He plucked the sock from his mouth.

“What the _hell_ is that?” Kobra demanded the second he could speak, grabbing at Jet’s pocket with his free hand. “Gimme it!” 

“Exhibit B,” Jet said, ignoring him and holding up the sock to the others, which he’d heard had come into play while he’d been gone. “Just a sock, guys. Anyone can put a sock on a door.” 

_Neeeeeeear...faaaaar….whereEEEEVER YOU ARE….._

“Jet, hand over that napkin or I swear to Destroya I’ll mgfh—” 

Jet stuffed Exhibit B back into Kobra’s mouth. “Similarly, may I present Exhibit C? A glaringly obvious attempt if I do say so myself, left conspicuously in Kobra’s favorite booth for him to find.” He pulled the portrait of Ghoul from his jacket and showed it around. 

_Oooonce moooore, you ooooopen the doooor..._

“SPECULATION!” Ghoul objected. 

Jet pointed a warning finger. “Zip it or you get the other sock.” 

Ghoul clamped his jaw shut. 

_yooooOoOOOU’RE HEEEEEEEERE, there’s naaAAAAATHING I FEAR..._

Kobra managed the complicated feat of spitting his sock out, still entirely unaware of his free hand, which he was using to gesture wildly at the computer to get Jet's attention. “Jet," he begged. " _Please_ shut that off.”

Yeah, good idea. Jet made a quick detour to power down the tv monitor, cutting Celine Whoever off mid-yodel. “And lastly, gentlemen,” he continued in the silence, “Exhibit D. Where it all began.” 

Jet pulled a familiar crumpled poster from his jacket. 

Cola looked like he was about ready to self-defenestrate out the nearest window, chair and all. 

“Jet, no!” Kobra yelped. 

“Jet yes.” Jet unfurled the chart to Ghoul and Party. (In his peripheral he was vaguely aware of the Girl stepping into the hall, halting, and immediately turning on her heel and noping into the kitchen.) “May I present: Your opponents’ original master plan.” 

“Yeah no shit, Sherlock,” Party snarled. He’d been determinedly rubbing his mouth against his shoulder for the past several minutes and had finally scraped the tape off enough to talk. “I found that a week ago. But why d’you think it was in the trash, genius?” 

Jet blinked. “What?” 

“You can drop the innocent act, lovebirds, I know all about it,” Party snapped, straining against his bonds to glare around Jet at Cola and Kobra. “Goin’ all pastel for each other, scrapping the plan...”

Kobra had slumped against his stool in defeat at the reveal, but now he jerked upright again. “What?” 

_“What?”_ went Cola, who had gotten his mouth free too and was looking nearly as confused as Kobra. 

“YOU _TOLD_ ME, K!” Party shrieked. 

“ _WHAT?_ ” Kobra yelled back. "WHEN??"

“YOU TOLD ME EVERYTHING!” 

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” 

Party’s face went blank. Then he sagged in his restraints, mortified. “Racing. Ah shit.” 

Kobra was slowly coming to the same conclusion. “Oh gods. Party, gross! Oh my gods.” He looked positively sickened. 

Then rage flared in Party’s eyes. “You're drac meat, kid!” He started aggressively rocking his chair, trying to scoot it closer. 

“Why me?!” Kobra skirted hastily around his barstool to get as far away from Party as he could. 

“You started it!”

“No, _you_ started it when you had to go and ask Cherri if we were—”

“IT WAS A VALID QUESTION! What was I supposed to think?! You two were always carrying on like—”

“Like what, you perv? _Friends!?_ We’re not in love!” protested Kobra, horrified. “We’re not in anything!” 

“Cahoots, maybe,” Cola offered meekly. 

Kobra pointed at Cola. “Yeah, those." He swung back around to Party. "Hell, I’d give him my last chapstick, but we’re not pastels.”

“Aw, you would?” Cola beamed, genuinely touched. “You say the nicest things, _angel."_

Party pulled a disgusted face.

“You’d do the same for me, _my sweet dude,”_ Kobra shot back, making Party go even more disgusted. 

“THAT’S ENOUGH,” Jet said. (The Girl was back in his peripheral, seated crosslegged in the kitchen doorway, grinning. Was that _popcorn_ she had?)

“WAIT WAITWAITWAITWAIT, hang on!” Ghoul interjected. “You two _aren’t_ a thing?” 

“Fuck no,” Kobra blurted. Jet had never seen him look so alarmed. “Ghoul, you knew that! You were in on it!” 

“At _first!_ Then you went all _Cherri and Kobra, sittin’ in a cact—”_

“Yeah? Try this one on for size, Casanova! _Roses are red, violets are blue, I have ten fingers, and this one’s for—”_

“YOU WHAT?!” When the realization sank in, Party’s outburst drowned out the rest of Kobra’s retort. “Ghoul, ya filthy, lyin’, double crossing _traitor!_ You knew the _whole time_ they were faking? I nearly had an aneurysm over this shit and you didn’t think to share that pretty piece of information with the class!?”

“PIPE DOWN,” said Jet. Even with them all restrained, this was getting out of hand. 

Kobra looked distinctly queasy. “Are we done talking about my non-existent love life yet? I’m swear I’m not into this shit.”

“It’s true,” Cola volunteered. He raised a hand, or at least made the closest approximate gesture of it he could while tied up. “Word of honor.” 

“Phoenix Witch, how would _you_ know?” Party shrieked, scandalized. 

“Because we _actually talk about things?_ Like? Friends? Do??” Cola was starting to sound pretty upset himself. 

“Whoa, okay, so for the record, do we have ANY last minute declarations of true love to get out of the way?” Jet broke in. “This is where that sort of thing happens in these scenarios. What? I read books, Ghoul, don’t make that face at me. This is your last chance, guys, I’m serious. Speak now or forever rest in peace.”

 _“Rest_ _in_ peace?” Cola wondered aloud with a worried frown. 

“I said what I said,” said Jet. 

Sullen silence. 

“No one?” Jet said. “Shiny. Now then, for the terms of the peace treaty...” 

“HEY, WAIT JUST A MINUTE,” said Kobra. “They’re not—?”

Jet sighed. “Kobra, we already covered this.”

“No, no. Bullshit! I _heard_ you!” Kobra swung around to Party. “It was _disgusting.”_

Party cackled. “You heard exactly what you were afraid to hear! Who’s the mastermind now, hah?” 

Cola’s eyes widened. “Shiiiiiiit. I was right all along.” 

Kobra lunged to the end of his armspan and swiped at Party’s neck. He examined the purple residue on his fingers with dawning dismay. “You absolute _bitch!”_

He lunged at his brother again; Jet quickly hauled Party out of his reach by the backrest of his chair. 

Kobra pivoted his wrath to Ghoul instead. “Don’t go to sleep tonight, you backstabber. I’m warning you.” 

Ghoul just grinned wickedly and stuck his tongue out at him. 

“I WAS TALKING,” Jet said. 

Kobra hauled on his cuff like a chained guarddog. “Untie me. I have people to kill. Slowly.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Jet, come on! A whole army of pigs could waltz in, right now, and we’d be all trussed up like Christmas presents for ‘em.”

“After you agree to the treaty,” Jet said firmly. 

Kobra shut up. 

Jet returned to the middle of the circle. “As I was saying, the Get Along T-shirt isn’t big enough for all of you, so here are my terms: No grudges, no more payback. Clean slate. Shake hands, make up, business as usual. Comprende?” 

“Cool with me,” Cola said, looking relieved there weren’t going to be any harsher penalties involved. “Sorry.” 

“Thank you.” One down, three to go. “Kobra, say you’re sorry.” 

“I apologize,” Kobra said coldly, deliberately. Because that wasn't the same thing. 

Eh, close enough. Jet turned to Party. “Party, anything you want to say to Kobra?”

“I’m not speaking to him,” Party sniffed, turning his nose up. “Ghoul, tell Kobra where he can shove his poster.” 

Ghoul heaved a longsuffering sigh. “Kobra, Poison says—”

“Hey, HEY.” Jet put a stop to that. “Party, you’re not without fault here. Grow a pair.”

“Fine,” Party grumbled. “I’m sooooo sorry.” 

“Ghoul?” prompted Jet. 

“Sorry!” Ghoul said, though his grin looked anything but. 

Well. That'd gone much less painfully than Jet had expected it to. “If any of you are lying, I _will_ invoke the t-shirt. Do not test me. Swear?” 

A grumbled chorus of “I swear”s followed. 

Satisfied, Jet started making the rounds and setting everyone loose. 

Kobra exhaled when Jet unlocked his cuff, the tension visibly leaving his stance. “Don’t _do_ that.” 

“Desperate measures, kid,” Jet reminded him apologetically. 

“Fair,” Kobra grumbled, rubbing his wrist. 

“Good game, Snakey Boy,” Ghoul said, coming over to punch Kobra in the arm. The atmosphere in the room had turned surprisingly affable. “Didn’t know you had it in ya. And for being such a quiet, pacifist kinda guy, Mountain Dew, you sure can cause a lot of trouble.” 

“I know,” Cola said sheepishly. 

“So who’s idea was the makeup shit?” Kobra wanted to know. 

“Mine,” Ghoul admitted. 

“You devious bastard!” Kobra exclaimed with grudging admiration. “I want you on my team next time.” 

“NO NEXT TIMES,” said Jet quickly. He stooped and picked up the bracelet from the floor where it had landed, forgotten in the scuffle. The beads _were_ nice. He could restring them later in a less significant pattern and wear them himself. He tucked them away. 

Cola bumped Kobra’s elbow. “Hey. I’ll be going now, I think.”

“Cherri, dude,” said Kobra. “You don’t have to.” 

“It’s for the best, KobraKid. Let everyone cool off a bit,” Cola said, shooting a glance at Party. “I’ve got stuff to do, anyway. And I’ll come back.” 

“You better. C’mon, I’ll help you pack.” 

They went off together. 

“Finally,” Party said, giving Ghoul a high-five. “I thought he was never gonna leave. He got off easy this time, but if this ever comes up again, mark my words I’m gonna put the fear of the Witch into that hippie.”

“Oh, you won’t get rid of ol’ Hi-C for good,” Ghoul said. “Guy’s like a stray puppy. No hard feelings?”

“You’re a two-faced scoundrel, but I can’t say I wouldn’t’ve done the same. It was a good run.” 

“It really was.” Ghoul grinned at him. “Now help get this eyeshadow off me.” 

They left too. 

Thank the Witch that was over. Jet joined the Girl in the kitchen doorway and sank down on the floor beside her with a sigh. She wordlessly offered him a handful of popcorn. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Credits song for the nonexistent credits ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWvbJsB0OBc)
> 
> Hope you got a few laughs out of this series! What did you think? Come yell at me [ kryptidkat ](https://kryptidkat.tumblr.com) on tumblr anytime!


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